


The Gift of the Garden Born

by Triskellion



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Asexuality, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Cabbage Patch Hobbits, Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwobbits, F/M, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Stone Dwarf Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskellion/pseuds/Triskellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brave line of Thorin Oakenshield was not meant to survive the Battle of the Five Armies. But the love of a hobbit and an elleth might just change the path of history. </p><p>A fix-it inspired by my story "Of the Stone of Erebor and the Gardens of the Shire"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Battle of the Five Armies

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of the Stone of Erebor and the Gardens of the Shire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294938) by [Triskellion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskellion/pseuds/Triskellion). 



> I never meant to write a fix-it with dwobbits. But someone asked, and even as I said "No way" this idea was popping into my head. Maybe someday I'll write a follow up explaining how Frodo ends up with the Ring and the war comes to a head. For now, I think this monstrosity is done (I thought it was going to be like 10k. Woops).

As Fili fell from the tower, Bilbo screamed. Maybe others heard it, maybe they didn’t. He did not know. Nothing registered but the young dwarf who had befriended a lost and scared hobbit, the young dwarf whose battered and broken body was now falling to certain death.

Or maybe he was already dead. Azog certainly seemed to think so, what with the stabbing and screaming.

Those screams would echo through Bilbo’s mind for the rest of his existence, however long or short that might be.

Bilbo didn’t know how he made it to the other side of the frozen river. He didn’t remember the passage, didn’t know what was going on. Nothing existed between seeing Fili fall and finding himself at the young dwarf’s side, his body bent awkwardly across the rocks.

He wasn’t breathing.

And yet, when Bilbo pressed his hands to Fili’s chest, there was life there. The faint beat of a heart under fading warmth. Blood still trickled from the wound. A desperate, mad idea built in Bilbo’s mind.

He ran his hands over Fili’s limbs, checking carefully but quickly for further damage. A broken leg, some ribs, but nothing that couldn’t be healed if life remained. Even his skull seemed solid, despite the impressive rock it must have impacted.

“Thank Eru and Yvanna,” Bilbo breathed. “And Aule,” he added, remembering the Dwarrow’s tale of their creation. Aule had made his creations of hardy stuff indeed if a fall from such a height hadn’t shattered half the bones in the youngling’s body. Then again, Thorin had managed to walk off whatever Azog’s warg did to him once he’d come to. Maybe Bilbo should have expected it.

Still, there was the stab wound to contend with, and the shock. And the cold. Bilbo could not promise anything even if he’d had proper healing equipment, training in using it, and a safe place to work. Perhaps even an elf would be unable to help, though their healing magic was beyond anything the other races had access too.

But hobbits, some hobbits, had one other thing, one thing even the elves did not have. Hobbits like Bilbo.

It would only work for family, for those with a deep connection. Parents, siblings, children. Bilbo had none of any left. And yet, there were tales of the Gift of Yvanna being used for those who were not kin, who were as close as. Husbands and wives yes, but also adopted family. It would bind him here if it worked, to this dwarf, to Fili and his kin and his home, but Bilbo had come to love Fili and Kili as his own, children of his heart if not his blood. The Company was as much family as any Bilbo had left in the Shire, more so perhaps.

With that love in mind, Bilbo pulled a small bundle from under his armor. It had taken a miracle to keep it with him all this time, through all their adventures, but the little pouch of soil was still on the cord about his neck. With one hand Bilbo pulled the pouch open and with the other he pulled Fili’s clothes from the wound.

Or tried to. The remains of armor and shirt were well fashioned and did not want to tear further. Bilbo let the pouch fall against his armor and used Sting to cut further, feeling with every moment of delay that Fili’s life faded from under his hands.

Somehow the ring caught his eye, glinting and gleaming from Bilbo’s finger. This was no time to be invisible. Sure, it was a battlefield, but if he was invisible to enemy eyes, might he also be invisible to the Valar? Bilbo pulled it from his finger and dropped it on the ground beside him. Then he finished cutting Fili’s shirt away from the wound.

A probe from a dirty finger showed the wound was deep, probably cutting into the lung. Blood still moved sluggishly, a very faint heartbeat still present at the neck.

Bilbo poured out the contents of the pouch into the palm of his hand, the rich soil of Bag End mixing with the dirt of Erebor, the blood of orcs and dwarrow. A small corner of Bilbo’s mind protested the addition of such filth, but this would work or it would not. The added material could not be washed away. Not in these conditions. Bilbo could but work with what he had.

Carefully, he prayed, to Yvanna, to Eru, to Aule just to cover all the bases. He prayed the chants he’d been taught and every word that passed through his mind as he pressed the good earth of the Shire into Fili’s shoulder, working the soil deep into the stab wound.

“Please,” Bilbo breathed, prayed, begged again and again. “Please don’t take him from me. No more. I can’t lose any more.”

Bilbo had wanted to do this once before. No hobbit had ever used the Gift of Yvanna more than once, and few had ever done that. But once before he had wanted to try, for his mother as the illness took her. He had offered, and perhaps that had been his mistake. If he had just tried it, maybe it would have worked. And maybe even the Green Lady could not have saved one who was dying of grief as much as any illness.

He didn’t let himself wallow, not today, though the memories of that winter tugged at him most uncomfortably. Instead, Bilbo thanked his mother for leaving him this chance to spend his gift on Fili.

The words did not stop until, under Bilbo’s filthy hands, Fili suddenly took a deep breath. He did not open his eyes, did not otherwise show signs of life, but that breath, and the ones that followed, were enough to give Bilbo hope. He brushed away some of the dirt and found a dark scar, permanently stained by the earth used to seal it, but no wound.

Another yell, many other yells, finally caught Bilbo’s attention. Fili was breathing, might just live through this, so Bilbo could finally note the state of the battle. He grabbed his ring and looked. Kili was nowhere in sight, but Thorin was facing Azog, the two battling away upon the frozen river. And Thorin was losing.

Fear froze Bilbo’s heart again. “No,” he whispered into the freezing air. Panic drew him to his feet. A crash of sword against mace sent him running yet again. He knew nothing of the time between Fili’s side and Thorin’s. All Bilbo knew was the look on Thorin’s face, the certainty of death, and the welcome.

Bilbo knew that look all too well. His mother had worn it at the end.

“No more,” Bilbo screamed, but no one marked him. Gray blurred his vision as he threw himself at the battle. Not at Azog. No small pain from Bilbo’s little Sting would prevent the blow coming. Locked in battle, Thorin on his back, there was no option. They could remain locked, or one could win by giving in.

And Thorin wasn’t wearing much armor.

Just as Thorin twisted, letting Azog through, leaving his blade free to thrust up, Bilbo threw himself between the two and took the blow.

Every scrap of air was forced from him in an instant. Pain radiated through his entire body as blackness filled his vision. And none of it mattered, because Bilbo could feel Thorin, warm and whole, below him.

~ ~

Bilbo didn’t expect to wake up. He’d just blocked a giant orc’s death strike with his body. Hobbits were small folk. The blow was as likely to go straight through him into Thorin as anything.

Except he did wake up. And if he wasn’t truly warm and cozy, he was at least bundled up and on something softish. If he wasn’t comfortable, at least there was a haze between his perception and the pain radiating through his body. And when he opened his eyes, there was cloth above him, closing out the sky.

It seemed like the thing to do, so he groaned.

“You’re awake.” The relieved voice seemed impossibly familiar and completely unknown. It was not until Thorin stepped up to Bilbo’s side that the hobbit had any idea who spoke.

Bilbo tried to speak. To apologize. To ask after Fili and Kili. To wonder where he was. All that came out was a pained noise and a dry croak.

“Water first.” Oin bustled to Bilbo’s other side with a cup too large for hobbits to handle comfortably. 

“Thorin?” Bilbo tried again once his throat was wet enough. 

“Rest, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, his warm hand resting on Bilbo’s shoulder. “The battle is over.”

“Fili?”

“He and Kili are in the next tent, recovering well.”

Bilbo frowned, for he couldn’t remember what happened to Kili at all. But Fili. “I need—” He made the mistake of trying to sit up and the forgotten pain came back with a vengeance.

“You need to rest,” Oin snapped. “That blow shattered ribs. Even the elves weren’t sure they could put you back together.”

“Fili,” Bilbo whimpered through the pain. “Please.”

“When you wake next,” Thorin said, “I’ll have him brought.”

~ ~

Thorin was as good as his word. Fili and Kili were both in the tent when Bilbo next woke, the latter laid out in a cot and looking more than a little the worse for wear while the former sat in a chair with a crutch beside him.

“It worked,” Bilbo whispered as he took in Fili’s battered form. Battered, but not broken. Bandages swathed his ribs, and more tied splits about both the leg Bilbo had expected and an arm he had not, but Fili sat whole and alive.

“Bilbo?” Fili asked, his eyes lit up with a smile. He looked ready to launch himself across the tent, broken bones and restraining bandages fogotten, but even in that instant, Bilbo fell back asleep.

~ ~

There was always someone from the Company there when Bilbo awoke, and something for him to drink or eat that quickly knocked him back out if exhaustion and pain didn’t beat the herbs to it. Bilbo had no idea how long it had been since the battle, though it seemed the orcs at least hadn’t won.

Finally, Bilbo woke with no company but Thorin, who had made himself somewhat scarce since that first awakening.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said as soon as he could. “I should not have taken the Arkenstone.

Thorin looked down, his expression grave. “Never say that again.”

Bilbo bit his lip, uncertain how to respond.

“You…” Thorin took a deep breath, and releasing it, looked up. His eyes were haunted, but the madness that had lingered in them so long, longer perhaps that Bilbo had ever dared realize, was gone. “You did what you thought was right. And… and it was right. More so than any other actions of our company. Bilbo… never apologize. Because there is no cause.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin stepped closer and caught Bilbo’s hand, then dropped to his knee, pressing that small hand to his forehead. “You have never hurt me. So many times you have saved me, saved my people, my home, my kin. And I have doubted you, threatened you, and tried to kill you.”

“You were not yourself.”

“No, I was not, but that does not pardon my actions. I have wronged you.”

Bilbo tightened his fingers around Thorin’s. “I forgive you.”

Thorin chuckled, but it was not a happy sound. Rather, it expressed pain that could not come out any other way. “I suspected as much when an invisible body threw itself between Azog’s blade and myself.”

“It worked?” Bilbo offered tentatively.

“The mithril may have stopped the blow from cutting you, but it almost took your life anyway.”

“Oin did say something about my ribs.”

“I offered Thranduil the Arkenstone if he could save you.”

Bilbo could only stare at Thorin in shock. “No,” he breathed. “I am not worth so much.”

“Yes.” Blue eyes finally met Bilbo’s. “You are worth far more than any gem. As are my nephews and home and people. And you were the only one who could teach me that lesson.”

“I’m sorry. It was supposed to come back to you.”

Thorin chuckled. This time the sound had some amusement. “Oh, it did. Gandalf gave Thranduil an earful and the stone was returned for the promise of some gems he wants more. Looked all too pleased with himself when we traded… Myself, I think I looked more displeased. I would be content never to see the Arkenstone again.” Darkness seemed to gather on that dwarven brow again. “It is a curse. I see that now. It cannot stay here. I do not yet know how best to dispose of it, but I will not permit a stone to rule my mountain.”

Bilbo smiled, a feeling of amazing pride filling him. This was the dwarf Balin had seen outside Azanulbizar, the king worth following. The dwarf Bilbo had risked his life for time and again. “I have missed you, my king,” he whispered as exhaustion dragged him back to darkness.

~ ~

When Bilbo was finally well enough to move about, he found the tent camp a grim place. The dwarrow of the Iron Hills were working to make something habitable of a region of Erebor. The folk of Lake-Town were huddled in the lee of the mountain with weak promises of shelter and help with Dale. And the Elves had mostly departed save those tending the wounded and those still too wounded to move. It seemed the war had been won, but no one was celebrating.

“We need to have a party,” Bilbo said to Fili as the two limped through the encampment. 

“We’ve few enough supplies to feed everyone for another week,” Fili said sadly. “We can’t afford a feast.”

“I didn’t say a feast,” Bilbo said, “though one wouldn’t go amiss. No, you need to celebrate. We’ve won. Erebor is saved, the war won, and we still live.”

Fili looked thoughtful the rest of their journey. When they finally reached their destination, the tent where Thorin was holding court despite his own bruised ribs and battered bones, Fili peeled off and headed out with a hint of mischief in his face.

Bilbo set aside the question of what he’d wrought and entered the tent. There he found Bard, Thranduil, and Thorin arguing. Something about resources and directing efforts, but clearly no one was listening to the others.

“Enough,” Bilbo yelled after a moment of trying to understand. He was not a large figure, had not a loud voice compared to many, but he was used to making himself heard through crowds of Tooks and Bagginses. All three figures, and their staffs, stopped and turned to stare.

“We need food, shelter, and good cheer. We have gold, a mountain, and allies. Surely from that you can make something before winter freezes us all in our beds.” Bilbo spoke as though he were confronted with a room full of mischievous faunts instead of grown adults, two of whom were far older than Bilbo would ever be. 

“Perhaps a break, to cool tempers,” Thorin proposed with a surprising degree of rationality. The other leaders nodded and departed with muttered apologies.

“Should you be out of bed?” Thorin asked once they were alone save Balin and Dwalin.

Bilbo glared, standing straight and firm upon his own two feet. Though straight was something of a default with how many bandages he had about his ribs. He stepped forward and, with care, knelt before Thorin. 

“Master Baggins, you must not kneel before me.” Thorin leaned forward, his hand held out.

“But I must,” Bilbo said, though he would have preferred not to speak through teeth gritted against the pain of his ribs. “I must beg a boon of my king, and I know enough of kings to know this is proper.”

Thorin sat back with a frown. “What boon would you ask of me?”

Balin let out a soft growl, but Bilbo kept his eyes on Thorin. “I beg leave to stay in the area.”

“Of course.” Thorin threw himself to his feet and knelt before Bilbo. “I would take back every word I said on the ramparts.”

“Thank you.”

“Master Baggins, you are welcome within the halls of Erebor, now and for as long as you wish to remain. We would not be here without you.”

Tears trickled down Bilbo’s cheeks as relief flooded him. If Balin hadn’t stepped up, he might not have made it to his feet. 

“Come now, laddie, surely you didn’t think we would turn you away?” Balin said as he escorted Bilbo to a chair.

Bilbo shrugged.

“I thought you wanted to go back to your home,” Dwalin said from his corner. The dwarrow glared at him. “I’m not saying I don’t want him here. But he’s been talking about his precious hole all this time. Never said he wanted to stay before.”

“Dwalin, if Master Baggins wishes to stay, he is welcome to stay,” Thorin snapped, sitting back on his chair.

“Please, don’t fight,” Bilbo said quietly. “I don’t want anyone to fight anymore.”

“Don’t mind them,” Balin said, his hand supportive on Bilbo’s shoulder. “They’re always like that. Have been since they were children.”

Bilbo let out a sigh. “Can I talk to Thorin for a minute?”

“Of course.” Balin escorted a scowling Dwalin from the tent.

“I… Umm…” Bilbo stuttered. “I can’t leave.”

Thorin frowned. “Not that I particularly want you to, but you seem distressed by this fact.”

“Well, not really, now that you’re not mad.” Bilbo cracked a smile and saw Thorin echo it. “But it’s hard to explain. I know dwarrow are a secretive race.”

“Are you saying this is a hobbit secret?”

“Well, yes, I suppose you could put it that way.”

“Then you do not need to explain.”

“Maybe not now, but I should.” Bilbo considered a moment. He’d hoped for permission to stay in Dale, or maybe on the outskirts of the mountain. He hadn’t really thought through explaining. “Though perhaps Fili and Kili should be there.”

“Tonight?” 

“I’ll make dinner.”

Thorin shook his head. “You’re going back to bed. Bombur will make dinner and you will rest.”

“I can—” But Bilbo tried to lean forward as he argued and was cut off by the pain surging through him.

“You will rest. You could have died on Ravenhill.” The look in Thorin’s eyes was pleading, and Bilbo nodded.

“If my actions saved you,” Bilbo said between pants of pain, “it would have been worth it.”

“I have feared since we met that I would be the cause of your death,” Thorin said sadly.

“You have been the cause of my life,” Bilbo countered. “And that is worth dying for.”

~ ~

Dinner was surprisingly merry. Kili was allowed out of bed, his wounds finally mended enough to risk walking instead of being carried on a litter thanks to the efforts of the elf-maid who’d been quietly stalking him since the battle. The rest of the Company had their share of bandages and broken bones, but none were as bad off as the Durins. Or Bilbo himself.

And none, thank Mahal, were dead.

After, Thorin encouraged the others to leave, keeping Bilbo and his nephews by his sides. His own ribs were aching more than a little after the day spend yelling, but thanks somehow to Bilbo’s intervention, some agreements had been hammered out. 

“Now, I believe you wished to tell us something,” Thorin prompted after it became clear Bilbo wouldn’t begin without it.

Bilbo nodded, looking uncomfortable. He pulled from inside his shirt a pouch, the one Thorin had seen several times on the quest about the hobbit’s neck, the one Thorin had seen hanging outside the mithril armor after Azog fell into the river.

“This is hard to explain,” Bilbo said softly.

Fili bit his lip, then said, “Does this have anything to do with how I survived?” He rubbed his shoulder, the one with the strange scar that should have been a mortal wound. Oin had said it looked placed to penetrate the lung and sever several important veins.

“Ah, yes. That would be…” Bilbo took a deep breath and set the pouch on the table. “Some hobbits have a gift, a chance to change things.” His fingers drummed on the little leather pouch, and Thorin realized he’d seen the hobbit do just that against his chest, or rather against the pouch under his shirt, during the quest.

“And you are one such,” Thorin said.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I can’t explain why—”

“We understand secrets,” Kili said, his voice all too flippant as was his want.

“Thank you.” Bilbo gave Kili a sincere look. “It is… hard to speak of this. We don’t… Well, we call it the Gift of Yvanna. Those who have it can make one plea for a loved one, for family. If granted, it can bring life back where it has all but fled.” Bilbo’s voice choked up as he looked at Fili. For a moment, Thorin felt as though he were back on the river, seeing Fili’s body fall from the tower.

“I died,” Fili whispered, and Kili whimpered.

“No,” Bilbo snapped, straightening and looking fiercer than it seemed a hobbit should be able to. “No,” he said softer, “but it was close.”

“While I cannot express my gratitude for your saving my nephew,” Thorin said after a moment of silence, “you said it was for family.”

Bilbo smiled sweetly at the boys, deepest love shining from his face. “Sometimes it can be stretched to family we choose. I have no one I love more in all the world than those I have traveled with these months.” He looked shyly at Thorin and the dwarven king felt his heart skip a beat. “But there are consequences.”

“I owe you my heir’s life. Anything I can do to mitigate these consequences is yours.” Thorin spoke regally, the words of a king as well as a loving uncle.

“Me too,” Kili said quickly. “You saved us.”

“I saved Fili, though I am more than glad another could fulfill the roll for you,” Bilbo said. “The Gift works but once.”

“You saved our uncle as well,” Fili said. “No matter the means, we all owe you.”

Bilbo turned red about the ears and cheeks. “I did not do it for debts.”

Thorin set a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Family does not act so for the sake of debts.”

“Yes, precisely.” Bilbo pursed his lips. “Well, there’s no mitigation per say. It’s more… well, I tied myself to Fili, to your family. Where once I was tied loosely to family and my home, now I am very tightly tied to Erebor and the line of Durin. I… well, I might be able to leave someday, I don’t know…”

“Thus your request today.” Thorin watched Bilbo nod. “Well, that is simple enough then. Your home shall be here and you shall be as one of our family.”

“Oh, I can’t ask that much.”

“You just said…” Kili looked confused.

“I’m just a simple hobbit. You’re royalty.”

Thorin turned Bilbo to face him and took up his hands. “You are far from a simple hobbit. But if all hobbits will do so much for family, then there is far more to your race than any other in Arda realizes. And that is their loss.”

Bilbo’s eyes were fixed on their joined hands and his ears were turning a vivid red again.

“Anyway, I am certain I would be lynched for treating you like less than the hero you are,” Thorin added flippantly. “You saved me, and I’m sure everyone here in this camp knows that.”

“Both stories,” Fili said gleefully. “The Company has been storytelling by the campfire.”

“Tell me they haven’t been spreading how we escaped Thranduil where the elves can hear,” Thorin pleaded, closing his eyes as he imagined the elf king’s reaction.

“Not yet,” Fili said. “But someday it is going to come out.”

“Wait until I can run and hide, if you please,” Bilbo said lightly. “One king mad at me was more than enough for one lifetime.”

Thorin winced, but Bilbo’s hands never left his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


	2. The Lady's Quest

Gandalf gave warning before he departed. He rather expected Bilbo to come to him the moment word of his departure spread, but he didn’t. The hobbit was nowhere to be found by Gandalf for the three days he spent packing and preparing for the long journey. Even hinting loudly to any of the Company he could find how Gandalf would be in the Shire by spring did nothing to draw the hobbit out.

He didn’t much like admitting it, but the wizard was a bit concerned.

Bilbo did finally surface, but not until Gandalf was making his goodbyes. The poor little fellow was still stiff and awkward, and Gandalf cursed himself for forgetting just how severely that last blow had wounded Bilbo. It was a miracle he hadn’t died of a punctured lung before leaving Ravenhill, let alone living long enough to stand here before all and sundry.

“I’m sorry to be running off again, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, kneeling to get on eye level with Belladonna’s son. “I’ll swing back next summer. I’d be happy to escort you to the Shire then.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I won’t be going back.”

Gandalf frowned. “You must.” He leaned in closer, speaking softly as the words were not for the ears of the dwarrow. “You are garden born. A year, two, certainly, but—”

Laughter cut him off. While Bilbo winced at every chuckle, his eyes danced with his amusement. “I had wondered if you knew, shoving me out the door like that.”

“I did no such thing,” Gandalf said, affronted. 

“I can’t go,” Bilbo said again, still smiling, though it was wistful now. “Maybe in a decade or two I might visit…”

“Bilbo… What have you done?” There was only one reason Gandalf could think of that a hobbit, a garden born hobbit, would stay in Erebor.”

Hazel eyes glanced over at the blond dwarf leaning against his brother despite their mutually wounded and unstable condition. The blond dwarf the healers said should have died on Ravenhill.

“I did what I had to to save my kin,” the hobbit said softly.

Gandalf sighed and gently gathered the hobbit in his arms, careful of ribs still barely stitched together with magic and prayer. “I’m sorry. I never thought…”

“I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not sorry at all. I will miss the Shire, but…” Bilbo stepped back and looked about, at the dwarrow of the company, and he smiled, that bright, happy smile he had once worn as a faunt, but never as an adult. “I have some letters.” He held out three packets.

“I will see them delivered,” Gandalf swore. He skimmed the names on outsides. The Thain, probably to see to Bag End and any of his worldly goods. Holman Greenhand, likely more about Bag End. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins? Gandalf tapped that one and raised an eyebrow at Bilbo.

Who smirked. “I thought it best to tell her, in my own hand, how she would never own Bag End. I’ve left it in trust to the Took family. It was built with Took money after all. Fortinbras will find someone suitable to care for it, a cousin with an eye for business. A Baggins perhaps.”

“But not a Sackville-Baggins.”

“Never. I’m only sorry I won’t be there when she reads it.”

“I promise to observe and report back in full,” Gandalf said, tucking the letters away in his satchel. He’d read them later, just to make sure he could pass on the contents if they were damaged on the journey. Of course.

Gandalf shared another hug with Bilbo before he stood and turned to Thorin. “Watch after him,” he commanded. “If I hear you have hurt one hair on his feet—”

“Never,” Thorin hissed. And when his eyes landed on Bilbo, Gandalf believed him.

“I will return next summer to check on your progress. Rule well, King Under the Mountain.”

~ ~

Food came from Mirkwood, then the Iron Hills, then from Lothlórien. Before winter fully sunk its teeth into the stone of Erebor, supplies came up the river from southern lands, Gondor and Rohan. Gold went south in thanks and there were supplies enough to support man, dwarf, and hobbit through the cold months. And by then, thanks to the dedicated dwarf crews, there were safe quarters to house the survivors, dwarrow and men alike, within Erebor’s walls.

Dwarrow really were good with stone. Bilbo had heard such before, but until Erebor he’d never really seen it. Watching a dwarf crew shift stone about was amazing; but how they could all see every fault, knew just where to tap to remove the damaged stone, that was beyond comprehension. Once Bilbo could move more freely, he took to wandering about Erebor just watching whatever the work crews were up to. 

He couldn’t watch from too close. A dwarf could feel how the rock would shift, which walls were unstable and which were safe. Bilbo just saw stone, stone, and more stone. But he could watch, see how the teams moved across damaged stone and hauled away debris from the dragon’s residence.

Other members of the Company were of far more use than Bilbo with the recovery, cleaning, leading, cooking, repairing, and yet somehow they always made time to spend an hour here, an hour there with the hobbit. He was rarely alone even when everyone should be busy. Even Thorin made time to watch the crews with Bilbo rather than joining in.

It was Thorin who was with Bilbo that day. The crews were shifting rubble from what used to be the royal quarter. The Company was bunking in the caves that once were guildhall to the Tailor's Guild as everything was in good shape. There had been little in the way of gems and gold to tempt Smaug. The royal quarters, on the other hand, were clawed up and full of holes. Smaug had expended more than a little energy accessing those rooms with the greatest degree of gilding. Apparently Thror had been fond of gold thread and gem encrusted tapestries toward the end.

But there were a few patches of stability in the sea of unstable rubble that remained of the royal quarters. And as a doorway to one such area was uncovered, Thorin gasped, his eyes both wide with shock and distant with memory.

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered, not wanting to draw the attention of the working dwarrow.

The king ignored the hobbit, walking forward in a daze and quietly ordering the workers away from the still closed door. He pressed one hand to the stone door frame, head bowed.

“It feels solid past here,” Bofur said. He was usually leading a cleanup crew, and was quite well liked as well as very good at it. Now, he stepped up to Thorin’s side and knocked on the other side of the doorframe. “Yep. Smaug never dug this deep. We’ve just been clearing his leavings.”

“Leave this room alone,” Thorin ordered softly. 

Bofur waved off his dwarrow, directing them to the next hall. “We might get your old room clear today, if it’s where you think.” The dwarrow shared a wry grin, Thorin’s sense of direction ever a joke, though it had proved quite accurate within Erebor. So far.

Thorin continued to stand by the door, his hand pressed to the stone, long after the other dwarrow departed.

“Should I go too?” Bilbo finally asked softly. Even so, Thorin startled, looking at Bilbo as though he had forgotten the hobbit was present.

“No.” Thorin swallowed hard and stroked a hand down the stone. “No… I would welcome your company.”

“Do you want to… talk about… whatever…” Bilbo stumbled. He had no idea what might be so special about this door, this room. Maybe it was Thorin’s brother’s room? A few stories, mostly cut off, had mentioned Frerin, but most of what Bilbo knew could be contained in the phrase “He died at Azanulbizar.”

“You mentioned Hobbit secrets to me once,” Thorin said softly, holding out a hand. Bilbo took it and let himself be tugged to the dwarf’s side. “This… this room holds one of the dwarrow’s greatest secrets… and my family’s.”

“I should go, then,” Bilbo said softly, though curiosity tugged at him.

“You are family,” Thorin corrected. He tugged gently at the braid before Bilbo’s left ear, woven there by Fili the moment the hair was long enough. It was round, a Durin braid, but just one. One to mark him under the protection of the Durin line, but not born to it.

Bilbo just smiled, now used to the tug. It was becoming a common fidget from Thorin. Whenever Bilbo was in reach, Thorin would tug on the braid. It felt… welcoming.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, then froze. He shut his mouth and shook his head. And opened the door.

The room beyond was small and simple. Niches in the walls held their contents in the shadows despite the best efforts of the lantern in Thorin’s hand. No decoration broke the dark gray of the stone walls. No. Bilbo looked closer. The gray was unending, but there was decoration. Something in the niches. Statues?

“They say the Maker made the dwarrow from the stone of the mountains with his own hands. Some say he carved them. Others that he must have molded them, stone moving like clay before his will. Whatever the truth, all dwarrow know he did not consider one thing when he formed the seven fathers.”

Bilbo watched Thorin approach one niche and stroke a finger down one soft looking cheek. “Oh?” he asked when it appeared Thorin would not continue.

Thorin looked at the hobbit and grinned. “He made no dams. How were his creations to procreate?”

A chuckle slipped from Bilbo’s lips. “I never thought of it that way. Ori never mentioned—”

“He wouldn’t have. We never do, not to outsiders.”

“Thorin, I am—”

“No, not anymore.” Thorin shook his head, just as he always did when Bilbo questioned his right to dwarven things. 

Bilbo was seriously contemplating asking for Khuzdul lessons, both as a test and because he was rather interested in learning the secret language. More than the few words (mostly curses) he’d picked up on the journey.

“If you had no dams, how…? Well, there are certainly dwarrow today.”

Thorin nodded. “Mahal begged the One for guidance and received permission to teach his children to carve the next generation. He taught us prayers to channel life into stone.”

Suddenly it all made perfect sense to Bilbo. “A repository.” There had to be a dozen children in the room, waiting for a chance. “For all of Erebor?”

“No.” Thorin touched the same down cheek again, then stepped away, circling the room and looking carefully at each sculpture. At each child. “No, this was my father’s repository. Most have children as other races do. A dwarf and a dam together. Sometimes two dwarrow will choose to carve to continued their bloodlines, or a solitary dwarf will choose to carve an heir, though it is said to be harder with only one parent.” He frowned, his hand reaching out again, but he pulled back this time before touching the sculpture. “My parents were unable to conceive.”

“You have two siblings,” Bilbo felt the need to point out. 

“And all three of us were carved from the stone of Erebor, granted life by Mahal in exchange for our parent’s prayers. Few are so blessed so many times, dam born or stone born.” Thorin returned to the first niche, and this time he did touch. That was the only sculpture he touched. “But my father never stopped carving. A dwarf might carve twenty to succeed once. The others are usually destroyed when the prayers fail. And yet… Thrain carved many times and never destroyed a single carving.”

“All of these are your father’s children…?” Bilbo frowned. That didn’t feel right. “Potential children?”

“One would think. But my father maintained that these were for his children, and children’s children. He said he could feel when the product of his chisel was for another.”

Bilbo stepped up beside Thorin, finally taking a look at the small statue that kept drawing the King’s attention. It was small, maybe smaller than the others, and looked incomplete. “This one is yours.” It should have been a question.

It was not.

“Maybe. I’ve always felt so, but I could not bring a child into the world knowing they would be…” Thorin turned the statue, a child curled on its—his—side. A change in the lighting proved there was something wrong. The little fellow had no feet. And something was off about his shoulder.

“Poor thing,” Bilbo whispered.

~ ~

Bilbo was drawn back to the room, again and again, through the winter. He never touched. No, it was clear that was the purview of the parent only. Bilbo had been present when Fili and Kili were shown the room, and Fili had been drawn to a child huddled in a back corner.

“Someday,” Fili had whispered, stroking the cheek. 

“Someday,” Thorin had agreed. “There is no rush.”

Still Bilbo came back. He found Kili there once, staring at one of the statues, near Fili’s. It looked off as well, disproportionate. Or perhaps he was looking at the one next to that, the one that seemed to be falling apart, like chalk crumbling in the rain. Bilbo did not know, and he did not dare ask. These were dwarven secrets, not hobbit secrets, and he felt bad enough for knowing as much as he did.

Though Thorin had permitted Bilbo Khuzdul lessons. Ori was quite excited to be named teacher.

When spring began to warm the air, Bilbo felt the tug on his feet. Not to leave, not for the Shire, though his mind longed for the rolling hills he’d known all his life. No, he needed to do something nearby, but not at the mountain.

Bilbo suggested a journey to Mirkwood. A few soldiers from the Iron Hills loaned to help clear spiders from the vicinity of the Elven King’s palace, Bilbo as ambassador to improve ties and save Thorin the headache. The king was loathe to let Bilbo leave, but in the end he agreed. On the condition that Kili travel along.

Given how much of the time Kili spent with a certain red-headed elleth, Thorin might live to regret that decision. 

But Mirkwood was not the end of Bilbo’s journey. Something was still missing. Oh, he enjoyed matching wits with Thranduil. Kili insisted in weaving another braid in Bilbo’s hair, one the dwarf insisted marked him as “Silver Tongue,” a master negotiator. Bilbo didn’t know what to think of that, but it was simple enough to recreate and got the strangest looks from Thranduil.

Still, Bilbo felt tugged onward. He suggested a group clear and check the old road west through the wood, loaned dwarrow to the efforts, and went along. Thorin’s letters by raven were less than polite when he heard of the plan, but Bilbo insisted and Thorin accepted. In time.

When they arrived on the west edge of the wood, ponies awaited, and Bilbo took Kili and a few guards to Beorn’s lands.

There they met with the great shapechanger and the King of the Eagles. Bilbo passed along the great thanks of the King Under the Mountain and the King of Mirkwood and made offerings of alliance, or at least friendship. Negotiations went well and promises were quickly made. But Bilbo was not at peace, not ready to go back.

Not until he spent an afternoon wandering through Beorn’s garden and found a branch. It was oak, well-seasoned, and the moment he felt it in his hand, his feet started tugging back to Erebor.

“Little bunny is leaving,” Beorn said the moment he caught sight of Bilbo walking back to his hall.

“I…” Bilbo looked at the branch clutched in his hand. “Yes, I think I am.”

Beorn nodded. He tapped the branch with an outsized hand. 

“Um, I’m sorry. This is from your lands. I shouldn’t—” But when Bilbo tried to hand the branch over, Beorn delicately wrapped Bilbo’s hand back around the wood.

“You will bring the little ones to play in my gardens and get big and strong on cream and honey.”

“Little ones… I…” Bilbo sputtered, but Beorn just smiled and insisted they pack plenty of jars of honey for the return journey. 

~ ~

Thorin looked Bilbo up and down, subtly, when he came into the throne room. It had been almost two months since he last saw the little hobbit. Given Bilbo had been quite emphatic the autumn before that he needed to stay in Erebor, Thorin had been more than a little concerned that Bilbo had spent too long away. But the hobbit looked well. He'd put on some summer weight and had good color in his cheeks.

The discussion of the alliances Bilbo had gone to arrange slid around Thorin's attention, more so than he should have permitted. But he was so relieved to see Bilbo again, it was hard to focus. The moment the basics were covered, Thorin declared court over and suggested they finish the discussion over dinner.

Bilbo's eyes lit up at the prospect.

"You are well?" Thorin asked the moment they were alone, clasping Bilbo's shoulder and looking again.

"I'm fine. Why...?" Bilbo looked puzzled. And adorably, the fringe of his hair falling in his eyes. He'd failed to trim his hair while he was gone, though he usually was quite emphatic about doing so when he could horrify dwarrow with the act.

"Your hobbit secrets..." Thorin stuttered. "Fili. I was not sure how long..."

Bilbo smiled and nudged Thorin with his elbow. "Trust me to know my limits, my king, even if you don't know yours."

Thorin laughed.

"Though you're right. It was long. I felt the tug to return..." Bilbo looked distracted for a moment, his voice fading.

"Bilbo?"

The hobbit shook it off. "But only on the way back. I had Kili with me. I think that helped." He smiled again. "And I think..." His fingers tapped against his chest. "I think I was on a bit of a quest."

"I rather thought you'd had enough of quests for some time."

"Ah, yes. Certainly enough of dragons." Bilbo chuckled dryly. "No, sometimes, after using their gift, hobbits will feel drawn to things... the Green Lady had something she wanted of me. I needed to go."

Thorin frowned. He had sworn to take up any of the consequences of Bilbo's actions, in repayment for saving his heir. But Bilbo had said there were none, save the need to stay in Erebor. Had he lied? "You did not mention this before."

Bilbo patted Thorin's arm. "Nothing like that, you worrywart."

The king huffed.

"I can never repay all you have done for my people, my family."

"There is nothing to repay," Bilbo said pointedly. "I chose to act, and I do not regret it."

"This quest... It is over?"

"Well..." Bilbo looked thoughtful again, his eyes looking off as though he could see something through the rock of the corridor. "I don't know."

"I must admit to some concern at that answer."

"Don't you worry. I'm fine. This will be fine."

"You'll let me know if I can help?"

The hobbit offered many assurances, but Thorin swore to keep a close eye on his burglar. For Fili's sake, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


	3. Seeds of a Garden

Bilbo considered telling Thorin many things once he returned to Erebor, and after. There was Kili's quiet courtship of the elf-maid that the king might want to know of. And the mystery of the branch he'd brought back. Or even the warmth of his heart when they spent a long evening together, something they did quite often even if it was rarely just the two of them. But Bilbo said nothing. Not yet.

Still, when he started overhearing the new arrivals at the mountain calling Thorin "Thorin Bagginshield," he felt he needed to say something. It was one thing for a few of the survivors of the battle to make the joke (and they had been), but for new folk, who'd been nowhere near Erebor the fall before, well...

Bilbo was still making sense of Dwarrow culture, but he had a feeling changes in use-names were a bit of a concern.

Of all the things he expected when he brought the matter up with Thorin, laughter was not one of them.

Truly, he'd more expected thrown crockery.

"You're not concerned?"

"Nay. Use-names rarely change, but it has been known to happen. I gained Oakenshield by popular proclaim. It is no bother to me if it changes." Thorin looked all too amused, his blue eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"Is there another way to gain a use-name?" That was not the question Bilbo really wanted to ask, but he was always trying to make a little more sense of dwarrow, and when they left him an opening he had to take it. Just asking questions at random tended to get blank looks and surprise that he didn't know already. Not conducive to comprehension.

"Use-names can also be handed down in court. The feast next Durin's Day will include some naming. Perhaps you'd like one of your own?"

Bilbo sputtered a moment, appalled by the thought. "Certainly not. What would I do with such a thing?"

"Let others know what great deeds you've done for my people?"

"Oh, don't you start. I'm just a simple hobbit. I did what anyone would do."

It was Thorin's turn to scoff, but he refrained from taking up the well-worn argument. "Many of the company will be named that day. And if I end up Thorin Bagginshield, I shall not mind." He paused, the mirth melting from his features. "Unless it distresses you. It is your name they are binding to mine."

Bilbo felt his cheeks heat. For a moment, he imagined going back to the Shire and introducing Thorin Bagginshield, and what the others would assume from that. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Still, who would know if he chose to be a bit greedy? "No." He licked his lips and kept his eyes on his toes. "No, I don't mind. It is an honor no Baggins would ever dream of." A Took, perhaps, but not a Baggins. A pity his kin would never know of it.

~ ~

The caravans began arriving from Ered Luin in midsummer. They’d continue arriving through early winter, and start up again the next summer. Dis had planned the matter out extensively, seeing to the gentlest return for their people, ensuring each group brought goods and supplies to enrich the mountain as well as to support themselves on the journey.

Bilbo stood in welcome with the Company, but went his own way thereafter. He knew Gloin’s family had arrived, but he’d meet them later when everyone was settled. Bombur’s family wasn’t due until fall (all those kids made travel difficult) and Dis was due either in the fall or next summer (depending on when she felt everything was tied up to her satisfaction). Certainly Bilbo wasn’t expecting anyone else he knew to arrive, or to want to see him.

He was wrong. A few hours later, he was found in the Library by one of the guards and told there was a wagon for him in the caravan. Despite his considerable protests that that was impossible, Bilbo was assured the wagon was for him and he’d best come see to it.

When Bilbo arrived in the entry hall, the wagons were slowly filtering in and being directed to various debarkation spots. Personal property was being collected and transferred to private homes (such as they were at present). Communal supplies and goods were carried to storage. Some were driven further into the mountain while others were unloaded there in the entry hall. 

And in the middle sat one wagon, a bit smaller than the others, led by ponies and driven by a fellow with no beard.

“Cousin Bilbo,” the figure cried on spotting him, and Bilbo was shocked to realize the driver was Adelard Took.

“My word. Adelard?” Bilbo came over and accepted an enthusiastic hug. “What in the Green Lady’s name are you doing here?”

Adelard threw his arms out and spun in delight. “This is amazing. Really, Bilbo, you thought we’d let you keep this all to yourself?” 

“We?” Bilbo looked, and spotted three more hobbits appear from behind the wagon. Goodness, half of Tuckborough had come. All four were Tooks of various generations from Bilbo’s grandfather, the Old Took. Well, except Dodinas. He was a Brandybuck, but still as Aunt Mirabella’s son he might as well have been a Took. Bilbo was flabbergasted, trying to imagine what could have drawn four hobbits from home, even four with the wanderlust of Tooks.

“We couldn’t let a Baggins be the furthest traveled of all our kin,” Donnamira said.

“I am the son of Belladonna Took,” Bilbo countered proudly, hiding how much he was flustered by the snub. Baggins was quite a proud name around Erebor these days, and he’d rather forgotten what it meant back home.

“True, true,” Adelard said. “Great-aunt Bella would be so proud of you now.”

“Though what you’ve done.” Ferdinand shook his head. “Tying yourself here.”

Bilbo frowned. “I did what was right.” He tugged at his Durin braid. 

“But to be trapped so far from you kin…” Donnamira shook her head.

“He is neither trapped nor without kin,” a deep voice pronounced from beyond the wagon. A moment later, Thorin stepped into view of all.

“Thank you, my king,” Bilbo said with a bow, ignoring the little shocked gasps from the other hobbits. Probably over the king thing. Hobbits didn’t have kings, after all. “My kin from the Shire, may I present Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain.”

“Welcome to my kingdom, good hobbits. Your kind will always be welcome in my halls for what your kinsman did for my heir,” Thorin said graciously. “It seems you have brought my burglar a few things?” he added when the hobbits took to staring rather than replying. Well, Dodinas was fluttering his eyelashes and smirking, but the little sod couldn’t keep it in his trousers to save his life.

The other three took to glaring.

“Stop that,” Bilbo snapped. “The king has declared me kin in his way as I have declared him kin in ours. Now behave yourselves and tell me what drove you all this way. Surely it wasn’t just Took pride.”

Adelard grinned and popped a slight bow to Thorin. “True enough. Cousin Fortinbras thought you should have a few of your things. Some books, a chair, the portraits of your parents…”

Bilbo jumped onto the side of the wagon, scanning the contents. Most of what Adelard had listed was in boxes, sealed against the elements, but just knowing he had his parents’ portraits eased a deep pain he had denied existed for some time. “Oh, thank you.” But there was also what appeared to be several sacks. Bilbo took a deep breath and smelled…

“We also thought you might want a bit of home,” Adelard continued softly at Bilbo’s shoulder. “Garden born should not be without their soil.” A small bag hung from Adelard’s hand, waiting for Bilbo.

It was dry, worn with travel, but Bilbo could smell the rich earth of the Shire, the green growing potential of the garden at Bag End, and a touch of the wildness of Tuckborough. “You brought me soil.”

“Ten sacks. Eight of Bag End and two from Tuckborough.”

“Mother only brought two handfuls when she married Father,” Bilbo said, gasping at the generosity. In the Shire, no more was needed to start a good garden and transfer a home.

“You’re on the far side of the world, cousin. We may have lost you to these halls, but we’d see you thrive here.” Adelard looped the bag about Bilbo’s neck. It was a comforting, familiar weight, and he felt more grounded than he had since he’d run out the door after thirteen dwarrow.

Ferdinand added, his feet safe on the ground but his voice soft as well so dwarrow might not hear, “Besides, you’ve proved yourself rather more Took than Baggins. Your children might need the better soil.”

“Children!” Bilbo squeaked, turning to stare at his cousin, who smirked and glanced at Thorin and back. “I have no idea—”

“The heir then?” Dodinas asked playfully, and Bilbo quite fell off the wagon. Much to his surprise, having expected a bruised bottom, he was caught. By Thorin.

“You are well?” Thorin asked, setting Bilbo back on his feet but not backing off.

How much had he overheard? Bilbo felt his cheeks warm. “Fine. Just startled. My cousins have been very generous… Though I little know what I’ll do with half of it.”

“They brought soil?” Thorin asked, still pressed to Bilbo’s back. “This has to do with your gift?”

Bilbo ignored Adelard’s glare and tapped his finger on the sack of soil at his chest. “Hobbits are deeply connected to the land, to their gardens. They want to see me healthy.”

“Something south facing…” Thorin said thoughtfully. “We have some terraces. I’ll have the crews check the corridors leading to them, find you something secure and sheltered. There was one off the royal quarters, but it was rather shadowed and I think the access was damaged.”

“Thorin, there’s no need—”

“Sooner the better,” Donnamira interrupted. “That soil’s been in sacks far too long as it is.”

“I’d best see what we have then.” Thorin tugged Bilbo’s braid and strode off.

“Not the heir then,” Frebian said smugly.

“Bother, I was going to ask if I could have a go…” Dodinas said. “Wait, the heir anything like his kingship?”

“Hush, you lot,” Bilbo snapped. “Damn and blast, I was going to ask him where I should put you all. And how long are you planning to stay?”

“How long will you have us, cousin?” Adelard countered.

~ ~

The hobbits who’d come all had a fair bit of farming training, more than the average for their families. Fortinbras had chosen well, even if Dodinas seemed determined to bag at least as many dwarrow as Bilbo (in his own way). Bilbo introduced them to those dwarrow and men who were rebuilding the farms around Erebor and Dale and let them have at.

With any luck, the farmlands would be quite productive in a year or two. Hobbits were very, very good at growing things, even by proxy.

~ ~

Thorin did find Bilbo a garden, and the Tooks helped him prepare it and mix the soil of the Shire in with the earth and stone of Erebor. And once Bilbo stood upon the earth of his garden, he felt himself drawn back to the branch from Beorn’s garden.

“Is that what I think it is?” Adelard asked, catching Bilbo carving in the slowly growing garden, curls of oak settling on the rich soil below.

“Maybe,” Bilbo hedged, studying the curl of the tiny foot in his hand.

“Bilbo. Who?”

“You know.” Bilbo shrugged off Adelard’s concerned touch. “I have not asked him… I do not know if he will accept.”

“He will.”

Bilbo tucked the foot in his pocket and stood. “I make no assumptions.”

“The Lady has guided you so far.” Adelard press a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead.

Bilbo pressed a hand to the outer stone of Erebor as they walked inside. He wished he could know the stone as the dwarrow did, that he could ask it if his actions were the will of Mahal as well as the Green Lady, and that he could hear an answer.

~ ~

Gandalf arrived with the second caravan. He looked up at the wall as he rode to the gate and saw the whole of the company waving. Even Bilbo was there looking reasonably plump and hobbitish amongst the dwarrow.

It was good to see that the princes had recovered from their injuries. They seemed to both get around fine when they came down the stairs to greet Gandalf in the great entry hall. The others had all fared better in the battle than the line of Durin and bounded about as dwarrow are wont to.

These observations mostly passed in the outskirts of Gandalf’s mind, however. His primary focus was upon the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield. The rumors coming east had said nothing of his backsliding, but one never knew until one looked for one’s-self. But there was nothing alarming about the dwarf coming down the stairs. Thorin wore finer clothes than he had when last Gandalf saw him, but there was not a scrap of gold visible. His rings were silver along with the trim on his tunic and even his hair beads. Actually, one or two beads looked more like pewter. Interesting.

Gandalf refused to be completely at ease until he was chest to nose with the king and could look into those blue eyes of his. But there was no madness there. Shame and guilt aplenty, but no madness. No, Thorin had not backslid and seemed to be taking care that he not be overexposed to gold so he could keep it that way.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, it is good to see you well.”

“Tharkun,” Thorin said with a nod. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

Gandalf grinned. “Just checking up on old friends. How have you been caring for my hobbit?”

Bilbo sputtered, coming up beside Thorin, a surprisingly Baggins sound in a very unhobbitish setting. “I am fine, Gandalf, thank you for asking. And I am no one’s hobbit but my own, thank you very much.”

Most intriguingly, Thorin reached over and tweaked the Durin braid falling before Bilbo’s left ear. “I think my nephews might protest that you are most definitely our hobbit.”

The boys did just that, crowding around Bilbo like tweens.

Bilbo huffed and protested, but did nothing to push the dwarrow away. “Really, what kind of hosts are you,” he finally said, stepping free and tugging on Gandalf’s arm, “leaving a guest in the hall with no offer of food or drink? Come along, Gandalf, I’ll get you a proper welcome while _someone_ settles your horse in the stable and _finds you quarters_!”

~ ~ 

Once Gandalf learned Bilbo had set up a garden, he insisted on viewing it. “I am glad to see the others made it to Erebor in one piece.”

Bilbo snorted. “I should think even Tuckborough considers you a disturber of the peace after sending four of their own—”

“Three. I distinctly remember being told there was a Brandybuck involved.”

“Then the Master of Buckland may well have been just as appalled. Four hobbits sent halfway across Arda. With dwarrow!”

Gandalf laughed. “It is good to see you hale and healthy.”

“Yes, quite,” Bilbo assured, brushing his hands down his green waistcoat. “Truly, Gandalf, they’ve been quite lovely.” He tugged at his Durin braid, then brushed his fingers over the one behind it. “Everything a hobbit could hope for.” He sounded slightly wistful with that and Gandalf placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I admit I was concerned when I left, but I see you’re well rooted here. I am sorry for throwing you out your door.”

“I’m not,” Bilbo said quite firmly. “Dragons aside, this is the best thing that ever happened to me.” He tucked his fingers in his waistcoat pockets, his posture every inch the proud, proper gentlehobbit even as his fingers seemed to reach for something.

Now why did that niggle in Gandalf’s mind?

“Now, you promised to tell me of Lobelia’s reaction to my letter.”

~ ~ 

Dodinas was sniggering when he came into the garden, and he didn’t stop when he spotted Gandalf. The others, trailing behind the obnoxious Brandybuck, greeted the wizard properly, but Dodinas just stood by the door and snickered and giggled. Bilbo found it… concerning.

“What has gotten into him?” Gandalf asked imperiously.

“Nothing to do with you, Master Wizard,” Adelard said. “I’m afraid my kinsman has found something he overheard from the dwarrow amusing and cannot _control_ himself.”

“So it seems,” said Gandalf, “for he has not even paused to greet me.”

“Bagginshield,” Dodinas gasped before collapsing to the soft dirt, wracked with peals of laughter.

“Pardon?” said Gandalf even as Bilbo felt his ears burn.

Donnamira smirked. “Well, it seems Bilbo didn’t introduce the dwarrow king properly when we met. He has a use-name.”

“Oakenshield,” Gandalf said.

“Not what we heard,” Donnamira said, her voice sing-song and teasing.

“Bagginshield!” Dodinas cried again.

Bilbo’s cheeks began to burn as well as Gandalf turned to him.

“I didn’t see reason to mention it,” Bilbo said, trying to sound proper and in control when he felt anything but. “But it does seem some of the dwarrow are pushing for a change of use-name by acclaim… because of my… actions… in the battle… against Azog.”

Gandalf stared a moment, then began to chuckle, his deeper guffaws echoing above Dodinas’ higher pitched chortles and Donnamira’s giggles.

“Really, Bilbo, if you’d introduced his kingship properly we’d never have suspected the heir,” Frebian said.

The feeling of his skin catching fire spread down Bilbo’s chest. “I didn’t name him that,” he said, but his voice was painfully squeeky.

“Oh, but did you protest?” Adelard asked. He was playing with something between his fingers, and it only took Bilbo a moment to realize it was a curl of oak.

~ ~

Gandalf remained in Erebor until the arrival of the third caravan. As the dwarrow’s carts began to stream into the entry hall, Gandalf was by one of the walls loading up his horse. Thorin wondered if the old pain would have said anything if no one noticed him or if he’d have just disappeared while they were distracted.

But Fili did notice, and told Thorin, who mentioned it to Bilbo, and off the company went down from the wall to make their farewells to the wizard who was both dear friend and bitter foe.

“You have it?” Thorin hissed to the big wizard once the general goodbyes were complete. He didn’t really need to ask. He could feel the stone even from this distance, tucked into the saddlebags.

“I will see it safe,” Gandalf said simply, patting Thorin on the shoulder. 

Thorin would have liked a little something more than that, but he had no desire to admit before his kin that he had given Gandalf the Arkenstone and begged him to see it removed from Arda for the safety of all. Dain would give Thorin an earful when he next came by, but it was safer for all if the cursed thing was gone. 

Gandalf stepped up to his horse and set his hand on the pommel, preparing to mount. Thorin let out a breath of relief that was cut off before it was completed when the gray wizard turned back.

“Bilbo, I’ve been meaning to ask. Whatever happened to that ring you had?”

Bilbo looked puzzled and his hand dove for the little pocket in the front of his waistcoat. The moment they’d had material enough, Thorin had commissioned a full wardrobe for Bilbo in his traditional hobbit styles, complete with useless pockets that Bilbo so often fidgeted with. Just like he was now. But normally he didn’t seem to notice he was doing it, and now he looked very puzzled. 

“I… I don’t recall.” Bilbo slowly pulled his fingers from the empty waistcoat pocket. “I mean… oh dear, I’m not sure when I last had it.”

“Have you been sneaking about this winter?” Gandalf asked.

“Nope,” Nori said firmly, and Dori shushed him.

“No, certainly not…” Bilbo’s fingers crept to his pocket again.

“The battle?” Gandalf looked a little worried now, and given he’d faced the Goblin King with perfect aplomb, Thorin figured Gandalf was on the cusp of panic.

“I’m certain I had it before Ravenhill,” Bilbo said.

“Aye,” Dwalin said. “I heard your scream, after Fili fell, but saw nothing.”

“And I took if off when I… helped Fili.” Bilbo jerked his hand from his pocket again and took to wringing his hands together.

“Could you have left it there?” Gandalf asked.

“No, no, I’m certain I grabbed it when I ran to Thorin.” Bilbo turned to Thorin. “Did you see me coming?”

Thorin shook his head, trying to remember back to the second worst day of his life. “I was focused on Azog. I remember my options.” He paused as Bilbo bit his lip, clearly remembering just what Thorin’s options had been, and his choice. “I remember clearing my weapon and thrusting, and feeling a weight on my chest followed by a crushing blow.” Thorin blinked a moment. “I believe you may have been invisible when Azog hit you.... but by the time Dwalin got to us…”

“I thought Thorin dead,” Dwalin said. “I went first to Fili, and when I saw he lived I called for a raven to summon help. I then went to Thorin, and when I got there, Bilbo was lying across him and you were both breathing.”

“And he started screaming for more healers,” Nori said. “I was first up the hill after Azog fell. Bilbo wore no ring. Perhaps it was shaken loose by Azog’s blow?”

Gandalf nodded slowly, his face all too serious. “Perhaps. No one could have scooped it up?”

Nori shook his head. “Dwalin or I would have seen it. The ice was broken all around. It would not have had to roll far to fall in the river.”

“Well, perhaps it is for the best.” Gandalf smiled and clapped Bilbo on the shoulder. “Do tell me if it should resurface.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, the words sounding automatic.

“Farewell, gentlefolk.” Gandalf hoisted himself up on his horse with no further delay and rode for the gate.

Thorin watched him go long enough to be sure the wizard was beyond his kingdom before turning to Bilbo. The little hobbit looked distressed and oddly strained. So much emotion for a ring he hadn’t even realized was missing.

“I cannot grant you a ring that turns you invisible,” Thorin said, pitching his voice for only those pointed ears and not his quickly scattering kin. “But gold rings I have aplenty. 

Bilbo chuckled, quickly shaking off the dark look that had haunted him. “Oh me, no. A hobbit with a gold ring? How absurd. It was a useful thing, but I certainly need no such thing, not just for decoration.”

“No? Hobbits do not wear rings?”

“Oh, from time to time. Usually those who are wed will exchange rings, but they’re as likely to be silver as gold and spend more time in the jewelry box as be worn. No use risking such nice things in the garden or fields, no, not when they’re often passed down what with gold being so rare in the Shire. Or around. I do believe some families will share the same rings between all the siblings. Not mine, of course. The Tooks are well off Hobbits and Old Took, my grandfather, made sure all of his children had their own rings. The eight who married, anyway.”

Thorin gaped. He knew he looked absurd but the thought of eight children, and that not being all of them, shocked him. Even Bombur, one of the most fecund of dwarrow, had only five. Or was it six these days? “Eight?”

“Oh yes, large family the Tooks, even for hobbits. Old Took had twelve children. My mother, Belladonna, was number nine.”

“I’ve never heard of a dwarf family so large.” Thorin continued to listen to Bilbo discuss hobbit genealogy but was mostly considering what kind of ring would look best on Bilbo’s finger. 

~ ~

Thorin was shocked when the fourth caravan arrived with his sister in the lead. He’d gotten the impression from all her previous messages that she would be waiting until the next year. Given the last message had been a month ago, she’d been lying through her teeth.

He welcomed her all the same, letting her sons distract her thoroughly with their bounding excitement.

“An elf?”

And maybe she’d talk her youngest out of this obsession with Thranduil’s guard captain.

~ ~

When Bilbo returned from a week at the farms of Dale, he was informed by the guards that another caravan had arrived two days prior. He had heard that as well, news trickling out through Dale. The news he hadn’t heard was that Lady Dis had arrived with the caravan.

He had not been prepared for that.

Sneaking away from both guards and his kin, Bilbo slipped up to his garden. The soil of his childhood home under his feet settled many of his fears.

The garden on the south side of the mountain wasn’t much to look at yet. All of the plants were fairly small and there were still good size patches of empty soil being prepared for one use or another. 

Some he wasn’t ready to admit to yet.

“This is lovely.”

A voice from the doorway startled Bilbo. “It will be far more impressive in a year or two, when everything has a chance to mature.” He looked up and found Thorin standing next to another dwarf, another dwarf that looked a lot like Thorin. The beard was a bit longer, and there was less silver in his hair. No, her hair. That had to be Dis.

The other dwarf, Dis, took a deep breath, her boots planted on the bare earth and her face tilted up to the sky. “But you’ve managed to capture the peace of your homeland, even with it incomplete.”

“You know the Shire?” Bilbo asked, straightening up with a smile. He was delighted to meet a dwarf that knew how to feel the Shire’s beauty.

“We only passed through the edges, but I found it… idyllic. There is a feel in the air…” Dis hummed contentedly.

Bilbo smiled. “Yes, the Green Lady’s blessing we call it.”

“And now you have brought her blessing to Erebor.” Thorin smiled. It was an expression that was showing on his face more and more of late.

“Only with your permission, my king.” Bilbo bowed stiffly, his joints protesting the work of the last few hours, but with a contented smile on his lips.

“Polite, little thing, brother,” Dis said. “I would have thoughtyour lot would have beaten that out of him by now.”

Bilbo started, turning to Dis and studying her carefully. “I am a Baggins, Master Dwarf. To do otherwise would be unacceptable, in the Shire or not.”

Thorin laughed. “Never question a hobbit’s proprietary, sister. I have learned this lesson well.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bilbo gave Thorin a pointed look. “On that note…?”

“Bilbo, may I introduce my sister, Dis, daughter of Thrain of the line of Durin,” Thorin said formally, give or take the smirk. “Sister, may I introduce Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins of the Shire.”

Bilbo shot Thorin a pointed glare before sweeping into a very proper bow to Dis. “My lady. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mister Baggins.” Dis stepped up into his space even before Bilbo straightened. She ran her hands over his shoulders, cupped his cheeks, and fingered the braids in his hair. 

Shocked, Bilbo looked over Dis’ shoulder at Thorin, who just looked back with a contented smile. 

“Bilbo, my lady.”

“Aye. But none of this ‘my lady’ nonsense, Bilbo,” Dis finally said, tugging at Bilbo’s Durin braid. “We are kin.”

Bilbo shook his head. “My lady, no.”

“Yes,” Dis said firmly. “My brother has told me all you have done for him. For my sons.” She touched her shoulder, just where Fili had been stabbed. “You saved my masmith.”

“How could I not?” Bilbo placed his hand over Dis’. Part of him wanted to be mad at Thorin for telling her everything, but this was Fili’s mother. How could he keep it from her? “They are my boys.”

“Our boys,” Dis corrected.

Bilbo smiled and tweaked one of her Durin braids, something he’d taken to doing to Fili and Kili. As with them, it got him a smile. “Very well. Our boys.”

Dis turned to her brother. “Very well. I forgive you for nearly killing my sons.”

Thorin stepped up, looking more than a little concerned. “I rather expected to have to beg and plead a good while longer.”

“And you would,” Dis said sharply. Then she turned back to Bilbo, her expression all smiles and welcome. “But you brought me a new brother who takes better care of our boys than you do. For his sake, I won’t gut you with that elvish pigsticker you picked up.”

Bilbo watched as Thorin blanched and pressed an arm to his belly. “I’ll stay on your good side, my lady.” Dis glared and Bilbo quickly corrected. “Dis.”

“Sister.”

“Sister,” Bilbo agreed, trying not to feel like he’d just made a devil’s bargain with Lobelia.

“Do, little brother,” Dis said contentedly. “Do.”

~ ~

“I like him,” Dis said.

Given she’d been just lambasting some idiot noble fresh from the Iron Hills who thought he had a say in the rebuilding of Erebor, Thorin was very confused. “I rather thought you wanted to borrow Orcrist to dispose of him.

“Not that bintarg fool.” Dis waved dismissively. “Bilbo. I like him.”

Thorin bit his lip against the words that wanted to pour from him. He still didn’t know their content and didn’t dare let them loose. Even before his sister. “So do I,” he finally managed to say.

Dis snorted. “I know you do. Or did you think I missed the mention of your gift.”

“Pardon?” Thorin frowned.

“You, in the midst of goldsickness, when you questioned the loyalty of the cousins you were raised with, of your own nephews, gave the hobbit mithril.”

Cheeks warm, Thorin ducked his head and fixed his eyes on his lap. “Ah.”

“You have to tell him, Thorin. He deserves to know what it meant.”

“He deserves better,” Thorin replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You are king.”

“And he is a hobbit. They have little use for kings.”

“He seems to have use enough for you. Talk to him, nadad, before the celebration.” Dis socked him hard in the shoulder. “Or I will.”

~ ~ 

With the fifth caravan came an escort from Thranduill, led by a certain red headed guard. Upon seeing her, every Durin turned stone faced and cranky, including Kili. Bilbo assumed that was due to his Uncle’s and mother’s blatant disapproval.

No more inclined to put up with such misbehavior to guests for elves as for Gandalf, Bilbo shot Thorin a glare and hurried down and greeted the elves himself. He threw what little authority he had behind getting them lodging and food. He’d see them well fed even if he had to provide them salads from his own vegetable garden.

~ ~

The elves left quietly the next morning with no official notice. It was a pity, to Bilbo’s mind, because if someone had been paying attention that morning, they would have realized only six left out of the seven who had come. And Thorin would not have been so shocked to find Kili and Tauriel on the battlements that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


	4. The Consequences of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Below is a bit of an interesting head cannon for Kili that I have been planning for some time. I think it is also cannon for "of the Stone of Erebor" but will likely never come up.

Bilbo had been spending far too much time in the repository for Thrain’s children. He knew this, knew he should stay away, but his feet drew him back time and time again. Which was fine when he wasn’t caught at it. 

“Who’s to say it isn’t the will of Mahal?” Kili cried even as Bilbo came through the open doorway. That should have been the first clue to turn the other way, the open door. Unfortunately, he wasn’t thinking and kept moving until Kili fixed him with a frantic look. “You can see it, can’t you, Bilbo?”

“See what?” Bilbo regretted the words the moment they slipped from his lips. Eru, the whole Durin family was present.

Kili flung an arm out, gesturing at the sculpture he most often lingered over.

“There is nothing to see, Kili. No one could have foreseen your actions,” Thorin said sharply.

“This is my son,” Kili said, beating his chest. “My son. I know this in the depth of my being. And look at him. He is amlâkhuzd.”

Bilbo considered the word. His Khuzdul was poor, but if he was parsing that correctly, it meant half of dwarf. Looking carefully at the sculpture, Bilbo took in the long limbs that seemed out of proportion. He had noticed that before. But never before had he noted the way a small pointed ear seemed to peek from the carefully carved hair.

Before Bilbo could formulate a reply, or find a way to calm everyone as was his wont, Dis let out a heartbroken cry and fell to her knees. Kili screamed in rage and ran from the room, almost knocking Bilbo over. Thorin dropped at his sister’s side and wrapped her in his arms while Fili stood, looking between his disappearing brother and shattered mother.

“Go,” Thorin ordered. “Don’t let him do anything rash.”

“Like propose?” Fili asked darkly. But then he shook his head and strode out, his passage barely slower than his brother’s.

Bilbo stood, frozen, until his heart settled down to a rhythm he could live with. Thorin was speaking softly to Dis in Khuzdul, too soft for Bilbo to make sense of. He didn’t want to intrude… but…

“I’m sorry,” he said, very softly himself. “I’ll go.”

“No,” Dis said before he could take more than a step.

“Nana’,” Thorin said, “you should rest.”

“No,” she spat, shrugging off Thorin’s arm. “No, tell him. Or I will. Perhaps in the telling we will find some sense…” She collapsed in on herself again, tears flooding her eyes.

Bilbo walked over and settled at her side. “Hush, sister. All will be well. Kili will calm down.”

Dis laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “Kili. Khajamê. Perhaps he is right.”

“Dis. I never expected you to encourage such madness.” 

Despite her compressed position, Dis slugged her brother hard enough to knock him away. “Do not talk to me about madness.”

“Please,” Bilbo said, catching Dis’ hand. “Please. Calm down. You are both concerned about Kili. I understand.”

Thorin sighed deeply. “No, you don’t.” He tucked Dis back against his chest. “When Dis was pregnant with her second child…” He paused, looking down. Something passed between the two siblings before he began again. “We were still wandering then. I was quite concerned about Dis. The pregnancy had not been easy and we were desperate to find a place to settle for the last month or two.”

“Vili, my husband, was scouting ahead when he was attacked by orcs,” Dis said, pressing a hand to her belly with a pained look. “When we were brought word…”

“He was dead, and Dis collapsed. I got her settled and called for a healer, but it was too late. She lost the child before....”

Bilbo glanced toward the door Kili had so recently run through, uncertainty and confusion jittering through him.

“My baby,” Dis wailed. “My precious son, taken from me.”

“He took but a single breath,” Thorin said sadly. “He was still too young to face the world. But Dis… Dis…” His voice broke.

“He took my son. I demanded he give him back,” Dis hissed, beating her hand against the floor.

“She stole my axe, still covered in blood and afterbirth.” Thorin shook his head. “Strode out to the nearest rock outcropping and chipped off a hunk. Ruined that blade.”

“More important things than your axe,” Dis said, slugging her brother weakly.

“I know,” Thorin said, pressing a kiss to his sister’s hair. “The results were rough, but she started praying all the same.”

“It didn’t want to work. Blood of the mother. Blood of the father. But Vili was dead and gone.”

“She used blood from the child, from herself, from Fili—”

“Anything to get my son back. His body could not live, so I gave him another.”

“It worked,” Bilbo breathed, tears filling his eyes. “Kili…”

“He has always been a little strange,” Thorin said softly. “There must be some price for stretching the gifts of dwarrow and Mahal so far.”

“He is my son,” Dis said forcefully. “He was always meant to be.” She struggled to her feet and strode to a niche. Inside sat the one statue Bilbo had been trying to make sense of for some time, the one that was falling apart. She grabbed it up and held it out. “Father knew—” Her voice broke as the sculpture finally dissolved to dust at her touch.

“One stone traded for another,” Bilbo said, catching Dis as she crumpled again. “I did not know.”

“No one does,” Thorin said. “Fili may remember some, but... You are the first we have ever told.”

“Then Kili…?” Bilbo paused, not sure what he meant to say.

“We never told him,” Dis said, pressing her beard into Bilbo’s waistcoat. “Everyone thinks my babe survived.”

“It was safer to let them think so,” Thorin said.

“I won’t say anything,” Bilbo said.

“I know,” Thorin said. Then he sighed deeply. “I do not know what to blame this latest madness on.”

“If he was destined to be, in one way or another…” Bilbo pressed his free hand into the dust that surrounded them now. “Then maybe this too was meant to be.”

“A dwarf and an elf?” Thorin spat.

“Which upsets you more, brother dear?” Dis spat through her tears. “One of Thranduil’s kin or one of your own?”

“Tauriel is no kin to Thranduil,” Bilbo said, surprised by how sharp he sounded. “Completely different breed of elf.”

“There are multiple breeds?” Thorin said.

Dis broke into cackles. “Daft, stubborn fool.”

“Thorin, really,” Bilbo said. 

~ ~

The tension between Kili and his uncle continued to rise in the following weeks, until the two could not be in the same room together without an argument breaking out over something. Bilbo watched, concerned through it all until the day mention of trade with Dale, of all things, was the trigger. That day, when Kili stormed out, Thorin turned to Fili and asked when he would be starting to bring home inappropriate possible spouses.

“That daughter of Bard’s perhaps?”

The look of anguish and horror in Fili’s eyes as he stalked from the council room was the utter end for Bilbo. The hobbit turned and glared hard at Thorin, who did have the sense to look abashed as he watched his heir leave.

“Unbelievable,” Bilbo hissed. “I suggest, Thorin Oakenshield, that you pull your head out of your ass and get over this before you drive both of your nephews from Erebor.” He brightened a moment as the appropriate thought (threat) struck him. “After all, I shall have to follow. Oh, with both of them we could return to the Shire. I’m sure my Took cousins would adore having them around. And Fortinbras would give me control of Bag End again. Yes, go right on as you have. It will be good to see home again.”

Thorin looked shattered, his blue eyes dark with pain and guilt, almost enough to make Bilbo feel sorry for his words.

“Think upon the consequences,” Bilbo said, and Thorin nodded gravely.

~ ~

Bilbo found Tauriel first, oddly enough. She was waiting outside the council chamber, rather than having followed Kili to wherever he’d taken to hiding out.

“You will help him?” she asked. No, pleaded.

“I will try,” Bilbo swore. In return, Tauriel led Bilbo to a small tunnel, seemingly too small for the towering elf, that in turn led to a crack in the mountain that was probably an air vent. Beyond was a small, flat area, not large enough to hold soil but with room to walk and sit. Out there, Fili and Kili huddled together, braids all but intertwined as they held each other.

Tauriel swore to see they weren’t interrupted before Bilbo stepped out onto the ledge. “Ah, my boys,” Bilbo whispered, his voice stolen away by the wind. Still, Fili looked up, glaring. The look softened in an instant when he saw Bilbo.

“Dear, dear, boys.” Bilbo crouched down beside them. “I know it hurts. But you know they only protest from love.”

Kili snarled though Fili tried to sooth him with gentle touches. 

“Love? How is it love to separate me from the one I love, to deny me the happiness my mother even now speaks of from her own marriage?”

Bilbo sighed and made a very important, and potentially dangerous, decision.

He turned to Fili. “How much do you remember from the day Kili was born?”

Fili did not get a chance to answer. Kili quickly said, “It was the day Adad was killed. I was born early when Amad heard of his death. What of it?”

“Yes and no,” Bilbo said, then paused before saying more as Fili began to speak, his eyes lost in deep remembrance.

“That’s what they told us… but I remember blood, and pain. Amad screaming in anger. Thorin crying.” As he spoke, Fili violently rubbed a line across the palm of his hand.

Bilbo gently tugged that hand free of the other and soothed the redness on Fili’s palm with his own fingers. He wasn’t sure how he first noticed, look or touch, but after a moment he could see a scar, very faint, across the width of Fili’s palm. “Did you get this that day?” he asked softly.

Fili startled and bit his lip. “I don’t know. Sometimes I dream of Amad cutting my hand and dripping my blood on a stone, but that doesn’t make sense.”

“You were so young, it makes sense you would hide the truth in dreams,” Bilbo said.

“What do you mean?” Kili demanded. He caught Fili’s hand and looked at the scar. “He’s always had that.”

“Probably since the day of your birth,” Bilbo said, catching Kili’s hands in his own. “I only learned by accident. Your birth was not an easy one.” And Bilbo told Kili and Fili exactly what Thorin and Dis had told him.

When Bilbo was done, both lads looked horrified.

“That… explains so much,” Fili breathed.

“Yes, that my kin fear my actions because I’m an abomination,” Kili spat. He was shaking, though Bilbo suspected it was as much fear as anger. “There are plenty who would have me killed if they knew…”

Fili let out a pained snort of laughter. “Suddenly the emphasis on proper procedure in crafting a child makes so much more sense. They were warning us against Amad’s mistake.”

“Oh, both of theirs, I suspect,” Bilbo said. “But I doubt—”

“Who knows?” Kili demanded.

“Your mother and your uncle,” Bilbo said. “I learned only because your mother was so distraught. And now you, though I suspect I will be cast out for telling you.”

“Not if we don’t tell them we know,” Fili said.

“You expect me to go on as normal… knowing what I am?” Kili rose halfway to his feet, arms waving wildly.

Bilbo grabbed Kili’s hand and pulled him back to the ground. “No!” He held tight, looking into Kili’s eyes until there was a moment of sense in them. “You are Kili, son of Dis, of the line of Durin. You are kin to Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and Fili, heir to the throne. Nothing has changed.”

Kili hissed out a pained breath. “Abomination.”

“Stone traded for stone,” Bilbo said firmly, and described how one carving had dissolved to dust. “You were meant to be.”

Fili bit his lip and hesitantly asked, “How can you be sure?”

Bilbo sniffed and gave them a very Bagginsish look. “I doubt Aule is going to do anything he doesn’t want to, no matter who begs. Therefore, he had a purpose in permitting the ritual to work. Besides, I’m a hobbit. We can recognize an abomination just fine, and while spiders and goblins are abominations, and orcs…” He shuddered at the memory. “Disgusting. The living earth abhors them. But you, my dear boy, are just that. A boy. A dwarrow. Perhaps a bit different from others. There are likely consequences for bending the rules even when one of the Valar does it.”

As he had spoken, Bilbo watched Kili’s face, watched hope grow in his eyes and some of that Durin stubbornness come back.

“So bearded or no, your family loves you.” Bilbo tugged at the scruff that was still all Kili could grow. “They threatened the gods to keep you with them.”

Kili began to smile, but as quickly the joy fell from his face and tears welled in his eyes. “Then why…? Why won’t they accept…?”

Bilbo sighed. “Your uncle is a stubborn ass with an unreasonable hatred for all elves. If you’d fallen in love with a human it might have been easier, but as it is he fears his actions... “ He paused, looking for the right words.

Fili took up the thought somehow. “They fear they did wrong and so look for signs of their failing. They aren’t really afraid of you, but for you.” He pulled his brother to his chest. “As you said, there are those who would kill you for what they did.”

Sobs wracked Kili’s frame, and his brother held him, tears trickling down his own face. Bilbo sat at their side, holding Kili’s hand, until the emotional storm passed and they could all face each other again.

“I do love her,” Kili said, ending the silence.

“I know,” Bilbo said. “And I think your mother is coming around.”

Kili looked up in shock, though Fili just looked thoughtful.

“She wants you to be happy, first priority,” Bilbo said. “You just need to be a bit more patient. Honestly, you’re barely of age yourself. The two of you have centuries ahead of you. And it isn’t like Thorin has cast Tauriel from the mountain, no matter how much he blusters.”

“See, nadad, I told you they were softening.” Fili grinned at his brother, and Bilbo could see just why the dwarrow were taking to calling him Fili the Golden.

“And I promise to keep working on them,” Bilbo said, tweaking Kili’s braid, “if you promise to work on your temper.”

~ ~

At dinner, Thorin was shocked when Kili came up to him and actually apologised for his rude behavior that afternoon. He wasn’t more specific, but it was enough to raise a wave of guilt in the king. He murmured an apology as well, and made sure to offer one to Fili when he came in.

But the real shocker was when Dis walked into the hall where they still served a communal meal for those in the mountain without time or resources to cook at home. The crowd was the same size it had been that winter, though that was a much smaller portion of the mountain’s inhabitants these days, and Dis looked through them all until she found a towering head of red hair. And then, oh, Mahal, she brought the blasted elf to the head table and sat Tauriel on her right. Right between herself and Thorin.

“Dis,” Thorin hissed at her.

“Shut up, nadad. If there is a chance she will be my daughter some day, I will get to know her now.” And Dis did not bother to keep her voice down, speaking so all at the—now silent—table could hear.

Thorin wanted to disappear, longed for Bilbo’s magic ring for an instant so he could escape. But there was no way to leave without making a scene, and he’d made enough of those of late.

The only comfort in listening to Dis quiz the elf about her life, interests, and emotional attachment to Kili, was the way Bilbo smiled proudly at Thorin from across the table.

~ ~

Thorin found Bilbo in Thrain’s repository and was shocked to find his burglar quite close to his son. In all the times Thorin had found Bilbo in this place, never had the hobbit come close to any of the children, seeming to understand instinctively how personal such contact would be.

“Bilbo?” Thorin spoke softly, but the hobbit still startled and something wood clattered to the stone sill of the niche. 

“Ah, Thorin, I’m sorry.” Bilbo shuffled back, looking embarrassed and worried.

Thorin stepped closer and realized the wood was a carefully carved arm. It looked like it would fit perfectly against the broken shoulder resting against the stone niche. “What is this?” he asked, carefully picking up the little arm. The wood was silky under his calloused fingers, soft as the skin of a child.

“Ah…” Bilbo stood frozen, eyes fixed on the carving.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, holding out the arm. “Should I have not…?”

“No… It’s not…” Bilbo sighed and seemed to relax a little. “I’m the one intruding. It’s for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something which he held out.

Thorin held out his hand, and Bilbo deposited two items into it. Little feet, carved of the same wood as the arm still held in Thorin’s other hand. Two feet with hardy toes and wisps of hair on their tops. Holding them, something deep within him seemed to settle in place and he knew they were perfect.

“Bilbo… how?” He desperately wanted to turn and press each piece into place, but he refrained.

“You told me of dwarves… But I did not tell you of hobbits.” Bilbo bit his lip and his fingers kept twitching, as if he wanted to reclaim what Thorin still held. “We are fecund as a rule, as fertile as our fields, but there are always exceptions. The Green Lady taught us a way for those who were unlucky otherwise… or for couples who could not have children in the normal way between the two of them.” His cheeks pinked most becomingly in the lantern light. “We don’t use stone like dwarrow.”

“Understandable,” Thorin said. “You are creatures of earth, not stone.”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, and so we craft a child of wood and clay, and plant them in the garden.”

“The earth your cousins brought,” Thorin said, seeing the whole of it in an instant.

“My mother was injured on one of her adventures, so I was born from the gardens of Bag End. It is why…” Bilbo pursed his lips and tugged on the end of his Durin braid. “Why I could help Fili.”

“You think… we could complete…”

Bilbo nodded. “I don’t know if your prayers will work. It might be better to plant him and see… but… I don’t even know if you want a child. But the Lady has driven me… I’m sorry.”

Thorin realized he had said nothing in the face of this incredible offer. A child. His child. Who he thought would never be because of the problems with his carving. And Bilbo thought he could be born. Thorin carefully set the wood pieces down in the niche next to the stone whole and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, trying to express his deepest gratitude with his touch. 

“I have no words,” he whispered into curly hair. “Akhminruki astû, akdâmuthrabê. Such a gift.”

“You’re going to have to make it official now.”

Recognizing the new voice as his sister, Thorin held still against his burglar’s fight to move. “It is well,” he whispered into hobbit curls before he let go. “She is right. We should announce our marriage,” he said more generally.

“Marriage?” Bilbo squeaked, green eyes wide. “Oh no. Thorin, I didn’t mean to… Oh dear.” And he ran off before Thorin could grab his arm or reason with him.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” he snarled at Dis, staring down the hallway at his deepest wish running away.

“He is not mine to stop,” Dis said, standing beside the doorway. “I must ask, brother, have you mentioned previously that you two are all but wed?”

The warmth of his cheeks told her all, he was certain.

“Males,” Dis spat. “Try his garden. And explain more fully this time. In small words.”

Thorin slugged her in the shoulder, hard, as he walked past. But she was right. He could have handled that better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


	5. A Five Minute Conversation can Solve so Many Problems

Bilbo collapsed onto the soil in the corner of his garden he had prepared so carefully to hold his son. Thorin’s son. Oh, Green Lady, what had he been thinking? The peace of the Shire reached out for him, but could find little purchase in the panic roaring through him.

“What have you done now?” 

Bilbo jumped, turning around with his hands raised, though for attack or in defence he was uncertain himself even as he did it. But when he spotted Adelard he dropped his arms and fell back to the ground.

“Well you certainly think it’s life shattering or you wouldn’t look so miserable.” Adelard settled next to Bilbo and pulled out his pipe. “Start talking.”

“Thorin....”

“Aye, I figured it’d start there. Dratted king’s had you tied up in knots since before I got here. What specifically is the problem?”

But Bilbo couldn’t answer, not without sharing secrets that were not his to share. He was still waiting for the backlash for the last secret he shared out of turn. Or somewhat so. Either way, Adelard certainly didn’t need to know about the repository.

“Hmm, not talking.” Adelard puffed for a moment and then offered the pipe to Bilbo. “Must be serious. Dwarrow secrets… or maybe he found out about your carving?”

Bilbo squeaked before shoving the pipe between his lips and puffing furiously so he couldn’t react again.

“Don’t see anyone back home would have a problem with you telling him about the garden born. Those Durins are basically kin as much as any Took, after what you did for your Fili. But I’m sure you know that. So what else did his high and mightiness do?”

“He—” Bilbo couldn’t say more, having to first cough out all the smoke he’d sucked down in his panic. He hacked and wheezed for a minute, and Adelard stole his pipe back with a disappointed look. “He said we must wed.”

“Well, I’d expect as much,” Adelard said. “Having a child together and all.”

Bilbo shrunk in on himself.

“Didn’t think about that?”

“Ah…” Bilbo shook his head.

“Absurd, a Baggins not thinking ahead.”

“Yes well, I’ve rather had a lot of fun since I stopped thinking ahead. If I’d bothered, I’d still be back in Bag End and you’d have no reason to be here.”

“Still, your sort have been known to wed, if not to bed,” Adelard said, tapping Bilbo on the forehead with the stem of his pipe. “Don’t you think it’d be worth explaining to him?”

Bilbo considered this, and might have agreed had he another moment to think it through. But just then he heard the stomp of boots and Thorin’s voice calling his name down the corridor.

Adelard shook his head and looked utterly disgusted. “Bagginses. Useless when you’re in this mode.” He pointed at the cliff, which Dodinas had previously proved was fully climbable and above which was an air vent that could be used to re-enter the mountain by a hall quite separate from the garden door. “I’ll handle the explanation, but you’d better talk to him once I’ve got the hard bit dealt with.”

Bilbo didn’t wait for Adelard to finish. He bolted up the cliff face and only called out a quick “Thank you” before scampering from sight.

~ ~

When Thorin stepped out into Bilbo’s garden, he spotted a hobbit. Just as fast, he realized it was not his hobbit, though the coloring was similar. No, it was the leader of the Tooks, Adelard,

“Looking for Bilbo, Mister Bagginshield?” Adelard’s lips quirked around the stem of his pipe.

“Ah, yes. Have you seen him?” Thorin mumbled, feeling more than a little sheepish. There was something about how the hobbits said his new use name that made him feel like he was missing the joke.

“Hmm. I may have.”

Thorin bit back a sigh. “Could you direct me to his last destination?”

“Depends.” Adelard blew a smoke ring. “Did you or did you not suggest marriage out of the blue and without prior discussion?”

Thorin wasn’t sure if he blanched white or went bright red under his beard, but he did know his heart sank into his stomach. “Ah… not exactly.”

“Not… exactly?” Adelard stood and managed to look rather menacing for a tiny little fellow with no weapons. “I do not know how you dwarrrow go about such things, but I assure you this is not the way with hobbits. I suggest you explain, and quickly, if you wish to see my cousin any time soon.”

Tugging at his Durin braids, Thorin explained.

~ ~

Bilbo fled to the ledge he’d found Kili and Fili on but a few short weeks before. He was pretty sure Thorin did not know the location and felt he would be safe there. But when he rushed out onto the ledge, he regretted not checking it for occupants first. He startled Kili and Tauriel out of what looked like quite a passionate kiss.

“Ah, sorry,” Bilbo stuttered, stepping slowly back as the two turned his way.

“It is quite all right,” Tauriel said.

“Probably just as well you interrupted,” Kili said with a wry grin. “I wouldn’t want to do something inappropriate.” He stroked a hand down Tauriel’s cheek, and the smile she turned his way was breathtaking.

“Still, I should have looked before I lept,” Bilbo said, then bit back a guffaw of laughter at himself. “Should do that a lot more, it seems,” he added in a mutter.

Tauriel looked puzzled, but did not ask for clarification. 

“Come, by rights I should have done this before our kin, but at least I can show you for now,” Kili said, waving for Bilbo to approach.

“Done what?” Bilbo asked.

“Give Tauriel my courting gift.”

“Pardon?” Bilbo asked, but most of his attention was on the beautiful quiver in Tauriel’s hands. “Did you make this?” It looked to be crafted of leather, but was embossed in Khuzdul runes and Tengwar script, each ribbon of letters dyed a different shade of green or brown.

“I ordered the quiver, while we were in Mirkwood. Took forever, but I guess it was worth the wait.” Kili reached into the quiver and pulled out one of the arrows, then handed it to Bilbo.

Not exactly his area of expertise, and yet Bilbo could tell the arrows were well crafted with glossy black feathers. “Are these raven feathers?”

Kili nodded eagerly. “I got permission from Roäc to collect discards from Ravenhill to make these. I asked the King of the Eagles, but he turned me down.”

Bilbo turned his attention to the head, which didn’t appear to be made from stone or metal. Actually, it was rather red. “And this?”

“Dragon scale.”

“Green Lady preserve us,” Bilbo said, feeling blood drain from his face. “This was why we stopped so long in Lake Town?” Rather than touch the head, he held out the arrow toward them, barely resisting the urge to drop it.

Kili just grinned, blasted imp. “It was too good an opportunity, though it took me forever to figure out how best to shape them.”

“A truly princely gift,” Tauriel said, “one I am uncertain I am worthy of.”

“It is a reflection of your worth in my eyes,” Kili said, “not anyone else’s.”

“Umm, forgive me, because it is truly a beautiful and practical gift, but why so much? And why now? And why would your kin be involved?”

“Pardon?” Kili looked shocked. “Do hobbits not give courting gifts?”

“Oh certainly. A fine cake, or a bouquet of flowers. Sometimes a bit of jewelry for a very wealthy family,” Bilbo said, remembering the necklace his mother had worn from time to time. It had been her mother’s, a gift from Old Took in their courting days.

“Oh dear,” Kili whispered. “And has no one explained dwarrow courting traditions to you?”

“I can’t say it’s come up,” Bilbo admitted. There was so much he still had to learn about Dwarrow culture and practices.

“Ah….” Kili bit his lip and gestured at the ledge. “I think you’d best sit and let me explain a few things.”

“Oh, I’m curious, but you don’t have to assuage my curiosity now. You two were clearly celebrating.”

Kili shook his head and Tauriel repeated the invitation. “I know any of us who realized you weren’t aware would have explained immediately. Please.”

Bilbo sat. And listened. And learned how dwarrow courted with gifts, each one tailored to show how well the giver knew the giftee and how much they were esteemed. Rank was a factor only in that the richer and higher ranked was expected to go all out while someone less well off only gave to the level they could afford. Therefore Tauriel would next give a gift to Kili, but as an Eldar of little rank and minimal means it would not need to be anywhere near as extravagant and rare (i.e. impossible) as Kili’s gift. 

“So you two are courting without telling the king,” Bilbo finally said, unable to come up with a better topic in response to all he had learned, and what it might mean for him.

“Until he comes to terms. yes,” Kili said. “It’s hardly the most egregious breach of tradition in Erebor right now.”

“Pardon?” Bilbo said, though he rather feared the response.

“Well I at least explained the meaning behind gifting before I gave Tauriel her gift. Uncle cannot say the same, apparently.”

“Ah… pardon?” Bilbo was starting to feel panic build in his chest.

“Really, given the gifts you exchanged, if you’d declared yourselves wed after you recovered from the battle, no one would have gainsayed it.”

“What gifts?” Bilbo said, his voice squeaking.

“As Kili explained it to me,” Tauriel said, “King Thorin gifted you a coat of mithril.”

“Not crafted by his own hand,” Kili said, “but given it’s worth and rarity, that can be excused. It certainly reflected his opinion of you well.”

“Pardon?” Bilbo squeaked again.

“And you stole back his kingdom from the dragon and his life from Azog,” Tauriel said, starting to look somewhat amused. “Either is a gift beyond price and quite appropriate for a burglar.”

~ ~

“Well, I suppose I can see why you might think you’re all but married,” Adelard said. “Can’t say your dwarrow traditions match those of the Shire much. We prefer flowers to mathoms.”

“Bilbo has implied as much a time or two,” Thorin admitted. “Thus why I haven’t pushed. I’d been meaning to sit down and talk with him, but…” He caressed the small wooden foot he’d carried with him as he followed Bilbo. “I got a little… carried away.”

“Hmm, I’d imagine so. Though what you’re going to do with just the feet…” Thorin stiffened and Adelard waved dismissively. “Eh, I don’t need to know the hows and whatfors of how dwarrow do it. But there are a few things you should know about Bilbo. Because while he’s very much in love with you, there are a few things about marriage he’s much less interested in.”

~ ~

Bilbo bit his lip and considered those feet and that arm, so lovingly carved of oak to fit a child of stone left imperfect, and saw it through dwarrow eyes. A gift of his own hands expressing the worth of his beloved. Oh, bugger.

“I think I need to speak with your uncle,” he said firmly, interrupting the continuing banter between Kili and Tauriel about just what of his actions had constituted an appropriate marriage gift.

“I think he’d like that,” Kili said. “He’s been secretly hoping you’d bring it up for months.”

“Probably closer to a year, from the sound of things,” Bilbo countered.

Tauriel just laughed the tinkling bell laughter of the elves.

“Umm, you won’t mention the quiver, will you?” Kili asked hesitantly.

Bilbo clapped the young dwarf, his boy, quite possibly soon to be his nephew, on the shoulder. “Not yet. But you’d better be prepared to repeat the exchange publicly and properly once I’ve worn your stubborn uncle down.”

Kili grinned widely and if they hadn’t been quite so precariously perched on the mountain side, probably would have thrown himself at Bilbo for a hug. As it was, Bilbo expected to get pounced later to make up for it. Tauriel just offered a proper and polite handshake before Bilbo shuffled back into the tunnels and went hunting for Thorin.

~ ~ 

Thorin was explaining just why there was no problem with Bilbo’s preferences when the hobbit himself appeared at the top of the cliff next to the garden. And began climbing down the sheer face of the rock.

“Oh, Mahal,” Thorn gasped, standing and approaching the cliff that he might try and catch his hobbit when the fool fell.

“Relax,” Adelard said. “He did up just fine.”

“Up?” Thorin glanced at Bilbo’s cousin and then fixed his eyes upward on the far more important figure. “He climbed that before?”

“Dodinas did it first, and he’s far more clumsy than Bilbo.”

“Honestly, Thorin,” Bilbo said, his voice a little breathless, “There’s practically a ladder here.”

“I’d never get a boot secured on that,” Thorin said, barely looking at the rock itself.

“Clumsy, be-booted dwarrow. No connection with the ground,” Bilbo muttered. “Talk about stone sense all you want and still can’t figure out how to move.”

“It’s all in the toes,” Adelard added helpfully. “Useful for climbing rocks and trees alike.”

“No calluses. He’d wear out his soft little toes in a heartbeat.” Bilbo sniffed haughtily, but he was finally in reach so Thorin just plucked him from the rock, earning a discomforted squeak, and set him safely in the garden bed.

“Well, now that you’re here, I’ll leave you two to talk,” Adelard said. “And Bilbo, listen to him this time. I think you two can work this out quite handily.”

“Hmmmm,” Bilbo muttered, brushing off his hands and turning to face Thorin. “Perhaps.”

Thorin waited until Adelard left the garden before speaking, but his eyes never left Bilbo. “I am sorry for what I said before. Not for the sentiment, but I could have expressed myself more clearly.”

Bilbo snickered. “At any time in the last year or so, apparently. Kili was just explaining to me about courting gifts amongst the dwarrow.”

Cheeks warming, Thorin lowered his gaze to the soil at his feet. “Ah, yes, I had been meaning to....”

“Given it seems the whole kingdom knows about your… kingly gift,” Bilbo said dryly, “it’s a wonder no one said anything sooner.”

“I suspect they each thought someone else had mentioned it and were giving you space.”

“And you?”

“Trying to build up my nerve,” Thorin admitted.

Bilbo sighed and reached out to gently grasp Thorin’s hand. “Not to say that I am not very fond of you, but marriage itself has never been very interesting to me.”

Thorin gently tugged at Bilbo’s Durin braid, fidgeting with the bead at the end. “I know.”

“Pardon?” Bilbo said, a look of adorable confusion on his features.

“I fear I have another assumption to apologize for. Did anyone ever explain to you the meaning in beads?”

“There is a meaning in beads?” Bilbo’s eyes darted between the different beads ending Thorin’s Durin braids. “I mean, I know there is meaning in braids, though I’ve yet to learn more than a few basics—”

Thorin cut Bilbo off with a finger to Bilbo’s lips. “I assumed it had been explained, by Ori or Dori, when you choose this bead so quickly from all those offered.”

“I… liked it,” Bilbo said hesitantly. “It matched yours.” He reached up and gently touched the bead at the end of Thorin’s right braid, which did indeed match Bilbo’s.

“Oh dear.” Thoring could not hold back a snicker. “Forgive me, but….”

“Please do share the joke,” Bilbo said, looking a touch frustrated with his eyes narrowed.

“For dwarrow, braids identify certain families,”—Thorin touched his Durin braid—“mark some achievements”—Thorin touched Bilbo’s master negotiator braid—”and generally decorate. Beads can decorate, but they also can inform the viewer of other skills or characteristics that a braid might not cover.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the various beads in view. “Such as?”

Thorin touched the beads on his left Durin braid. “I made these when Fili and Kili achieved their majorities. They show that I have heirs of my blood if not my body. That message is told in the material and patterns.” He tugged the center braid from the back over his shoulder and touched the beads woven into its length. “These honor my parents and my brother.”

“Dis wears four in her braid,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. 

“She wears one for her husband as well. They are identified in the runes, but also the source. Our beads for Frerin are wildly different but they honor him because he made them.”

“I see,” Bilbo said softly. “And I am honored… but that still does not explain—”

Thorin cut him off with another touch to his lips. “And the bead to the right of the ear specifies gender and preference.”

Bilbo blinked. “Pardon?”

“One cannot tell a dam from a dwarf so easily as a hobbittess from a hobbit.”

“Aye.”

“And our dams are few. Mahal made us to love our craft first and matters of the flesh second. But for some there is no love of the flesh and for others no love of aught beyond their craft. To a discerning eye, the beads will clarify without needing to ask questions.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo murmured and tugged at his Durin braid. “And just what have I been saying about myself all these months without knowing it?”

“That you are gendered male and enjoy the company of others over your craft but do not feel desire of the flesh.”

“Oh…” Bilbo studied the bead carefully, looking at the runes and gem chips that decorated it. “Surprisingly accurate. Wait.” His head snapped up. “It matches yours.”

Thorin nodded.

“So you don’t…?”

“I have never felt desire of the flesh, but I am not craft wed. I… I have long dreamt that I might find a companion to help me lead my people, who would keep me company in the evenings and who might take comfort in sharing a bed for sleep. Long dreamt, but I held little hope until a hobbit appeared from nothing in the dungeons of Mirkwood.”

“So when you mentioned marriage earlier…?”

“I hoped to wed the father of my son,” Thorin whispered, stepping just a bit closer, “that his face might be the first thing I see in the morning and the last in the evening. But I should never ask for more than a chance to sleep beside him.”

“I think I like the sound of that,” Bilbo replied, stepping nearer and reaching up to gently tug at Thorin’s right Durin braid. “I too had given up hope of finding someone to share my smial. But I have of late suspected I might enjoy the company of a particular stubborn dwarf. Night and day.”

Thorin stepped forward that last bit, wrapping his arms around Bilbo. The hobbit fit perfectly against Thorin, just as he had atop Carrock. “Marry me, dear Bilbo?”

“I would love nothing more, Thorin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


	6. Garden's Growth

Bilbo was overwhelmed by the events of the day, but still felt himself drawn back to the repository. This time Thorin walked at his side. Together they carefully placed the little feet against the stone form of Thorin’s son, testing the fit.

“Perfect,” Thorin breathed.

“I could do nothing less.” Bilbo leaned into Thorin’s side and savored the way heat radiated from the dwarf. He remembered noticing that before, on Carrock even. And now there was no reason not to enjoy it whenever he wanted to.

“You mentioned planting him,” Thorin said, setting the arm’s jagged end into the awkward break in the stone shoulder. It matched perfectly.

“Yes. I’ve only a feeling to guide me, but I think he needs planting.”

“When?” Thorin set the arm and feet beside the stone child.

“Soon, I think,” Bilbo murmured, and finally let himself reach out and caress the small cheek he had studied so long. “Or next year. I get the feeling the dwarven blood means he’ll need more time, so an autumn planting would be best.”

“Is that not common with hobbits?”

“No. Most garden born are spring planted. They sprout and grow over summer and are born in the fall. But some children need something more. I was an autumn planting myself. My parents had no luck with spring plantings.” Bilbo remembered the story well, how his parents had tried so many times, but it wasn’t until his grandfather, the Old Took, suggested an autumn planting that their seed finally sprouted.

“Is there still time? The frost comes sooner this far north.” Thorin sounded so eager, as though waiting another year was not worth considering.

Bilbo laughed, feeling as eager as Thorin. “I’ve an order in for mulch from Dale. Good pine needles and some oak chips. It should be enough to keep him warm through the winter. The bed is ready. I added gravel for drainage and mixed the soil from the Shire with good earth from around Erebor. The dragon may have left things barren here, but he left amazing nutrients in the soil. We’ve been seeing it in the farms outside Dale all summer. Everything he needs to grow big and strong.”

“When does your mulch come in?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Then….”

“As soon as tomorrow, if you’re ready.”

Thorin leaned down and pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s, blue eyes glinting with tears in the lantern light. “Tomorrow, akdâmuthrabê.”

~ ~ 

Bilbo had put more than a little thought into this for all that he had said nothing of it to Thorin. It didn’t take long to explain the details of the process to his betrothed.

His betrothed…. Green Lady, what a miracle. Too Baggins for some, too Took for the rest, but apparently perfect for one dwarven king.

By the next afternoon, the mulch was hauled to the garden and the wood was carefully merged to the stone. All that remained was the gifts. To petition the Valar, one had to prove dedication, to give up something to get something more.

With Thorin’s help, Bilbo had wiggled a link of mithril from the armor that had saved both their lives, and Bilbo pressed it to his son’s chest. A fitting gift for a dwarf, but not gold to draw forth the curse of the Durin line.

“A precious heart,”Bilbo murmured.

“As strong as we can make it,” Thorin said.

Bilbo had suggested one of his mother’s shawls as a blanket, but Thorin had countered with his old coat. It had protected him from one end of Arda to the other and would protect their son through the seasons.

“A shelter to keep you warm,” Thorin whispered, spreading out the coat.

“Softness to hold you safe until you are in our arms,” Bilbo said, setting their son in the center.

Thorin drew a dagger from his belt, one of his own forging. With a deft and gentle touch, he scored first Bilbo’s palm, and then his own, and they each cupped one side of their son’s face.

“Blood of our blood,” they said together.

Carefully, Bilbo wrapped the coat around their son, creating a bundle to protect him even as he prayed with every fiber of his being for the success of this endeavor.

“Come, khajmel,” Thorin said and escorted Bilbo from the room. 

They walked together to the garden. It was late in the day for a planting, but neither of them wanted to wait another day. With their bare hands they dug into the soil of the bed Bilbo had so carefully prepared over the summer. The soil was rich and dark and cool, but not cold. They each murmured prayers as they dug, to Mahal, to Yvanna, and to Eru just to cover the bases. They said the prayers of both of their races and then the words of their heart.

And then they stopped digging, both knowing in that instant that this was the right depth.

“So deep,” Bilbo muttered. The hole was deeper than any he’d heard of in the Shire.

“He’s part dwarf,” Thorin pointed out, though neither needed to hear the truth aloud.

They reached over together and carefully lowered the bundle into the earth.

“Please,” Bilbo pleaded as they carefully smoothed the dirt above their son. “You have guided us this far. Please let it not be in vain.”

“He is just as he was meant to be,” Thorin said, tucking Bilbo into his side. “If Mahal guided my father’s hand centuries ago to make him thus, then I know we have done right.”

Bilbo pressed his forehead to Thorin’s for a moment, then turned them both to the mulch.

And found four hobbits and three dwarrow standing next to the pile of pine and oak.

“Sometimes I do wonder what your parents added to the soil to get you,” Adelard said.

“Doesn’t sound like something you’d say,” Bilbo countered haughtily, but he was rather amused by the comment.

“That would be because he’s quoting Uncle Isumbras,” Donnamira said snidely. “He was most intrigued when word of your departure with dwarrow made it to Tuckborough. Said it was a bit much even for Belladonna, let alone her son.”

Bilbo sniffed, but snuggled closer to Thorin. “Well, if you’re all here, help us spread the mulch.”

The hobbits were quick to act and the dwarrow only a step behind even if they had to ask for more guidance. When they were done, Bilbo gave his kin quick hugs and Kili and Fili longer ones with murmurs of thanks.

“We can’t wait to meet our cousin,” was their reply.

He went to hug Dis as well, but she stopped him, noting the blood on his hand mixed with the dirt and pine sap. “Goodness, brother. You should have bandaged this.” She spotted Thorin hiding his hand behind his back at that comment and shot him a glare. “Really, no sense in either of you.”

“It was appropriate for the situation,” Bilbo insisted, even though Dodinas was hissing that it most certainly was not necessary.

“Come, let’s clean this out and bandage it before it goes to rot,” Dis said pointedly. “And we can plan just how we want to go about formalizing your marriage.”

~ ~

Thorin looked over the Great Hall, its golden floor reflecting and enhancing the light levels even with so many gathered and covering it. The dwarrow of Erebor were gathered save the few on guard. Amidst them were guests invited to the celebration for the first Durin’s Day in reclaimed Erebor. Elves and men from Mirkwood and Dale stood in clusters towering over the dwarrow. Four hobbits stood at the front of the crowd, towered over by everyone else but looking amused and intrigued rather than overwhelmed. 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, called Bagginshield, King Under the Mountain,” announced Balin, drawing the attention of all to the front of the hall and Thorin himself. They’d argued over the exact wording for weeks, but after Bilbo had consented to be his husband, Thorin had managed to win everyone over on the change of use-name.

The crowd cheered as Thorin stepped up to the edge and began his speech. He wasn’t paying much attention to what he said, the words well engrained in his mind. Discussions of success and thriving weren’t as precious as meeting Bilbo’s eyes where he stood near the front with the rest of the Company. Of those who had reclaimed Erebor, only Gandalf was missing. And Thorin didn’t miss him.

Finally, Thorin reached the end of his speech and had to start paying attention. He called upon the contingent from Dale, offering everlasting friendship to those who had long been allied with Erebor. “We can never express our full gratitude to he who avenged all our dead within the mountain. To Bard Dragonslayer!”

The crowed roared. And Kili stepped forward with the gift of friendship, a quiver filled with arrows crafted from dragon scales.

Thorin called upon Mirkwood next, though he’d have been happy enough to ignore them. Maybe if Legolas was still here, Thorin wouldn’t have minded so much, but he had to speak to Thranduil himself. Thorin offered alliance to Thranduil and presented him with a small chest. Inside were several of the White Gems of Lasgalen which had been found in the treasury while sorting and tidying. It appeared that several had fallen from the chest they were stored in during the centuries of dragon occupation. When Thranduil opened the chest, he almost smiled.

He really didn’t want to do this next one, but Kili had been firm and Dis had backed her son. Thorin called up Tauriel of the Greenwood and declared her a friend of Erebor. Kili must have warned her, because her hair was free for braiding when Kili stepped forward to add the Durin braid and mark her under the protection of his line for her efforts to save theirs. Given the smile she was bestowing on Kili, Thorin was going to have to give his nephew permission to court the elf soon lest the brat take the step on his own.

Thorin turned to his last ally, Dain of the Iron Hills. “Without your fierce warriors and stout steeds, we could not have held our home.” The weaving guild stepped up and presented the masterwork of a young dwarf who had been in the first caravan from Erid Luin. She had woven a scene of the battle of the five armies and Dain himself was clearly leading a charge across the valley on his battle-boar, front and center. Dain adored it and swore he’d have it hung in a place of honor the moment he got home.

Allies finally dealt with, Thorin turned to his own. He called up Fili, naming him heir to Erebor and presenting him to his people as “Fili the Golden.”

The crowd cheered. Some had joked in the last year that Fili would never fall to goldsickness for he had all the gold he ever needed in his hair and beard. Thorin prayed it might be true.

Thorin called upon Kili and named him Fili’s heir. He was so proud of his nephew, standing straight and tall before all, his Durin braids worn proudly no matter the state of his beard. “Kili Orcshot!” Thorin roared over the cheers of the crowd. Kili had truly proven himself hunting the remnants of the orc and goblin armies over the last winter.

Thorin worked his way through the rest of the company, honoring those who had traveled by his side and fought so hard to recover Erebor. Dwalin Orcbiter got laughter from those who had fought at Azanulbizar. Ori Warhammer blushed at the cheers of his fellow scribes. Bombur Barrelhunter turned as red as his beard but could not deny the respect he’d gotten after the tale of the river ride were spread through Erebor.

Finally, there was but one awaiting recognition. Thorin turned to Bilbo and could not hold his stern expression.

“Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took. How can I honor you? What name could I give you that you have not already made your own? Bilbo Baggins, barrel rider. Bilbo Baggins, stinging fly. Bilbo Baggins Dragon Riddler.” With each name, Thorin had to raise his voice more as the cheers of the crowd and Company sought to wash him out.

Bilbo stepped closer, stopping all but toe to toe with Thorin. They waited for the noise to decrease, for the voices to fall silent as they realized something different was about to happen.

“I desire no name,” Bilbo finally said, his voice ringing in the room. “Only to stand by your side, Thorin, son of Thrain, of the line of Durin. For you to be the first face I see in the morning and the last at night. I would be your advisor, your helpmate, kin of your kin and father of your children.”

It was a bit much to be saying before those of other races, and in Westron of all things, but the phrases were traditional. And just to make it clear to the dwarrow of Erebor that Bilbo knew exactly what he was saying and what it meant, he raised his right arm, upper arm parallel to the ground, lower arm raised so his hand was level with Thorin’s face, and repeated the words in Khuzdul.

Thorin breathed deeply while waiting for his people to settle down. Clearly a few didn’t like that his beloved knew their language. Too bad.

“Bilbo son of Belledonna, of the line of Old Took, I will stand by your side. Yours will be the last face I see at night and the first in the morning. I will seek your advice and aid you in all things, kin of your kin and father of your children.” Thorin repeated the phrases in Khuzdul, entwining his right arm with Bilbo’s and clasping their hands together.

“Heard and witnessed,” cried the hobbits in the crowed. “By the Green Lady they are bound.”

“Heard and witnessed,” cried the Durins in the room. “By the Maker they are bound.”

Bilbo and Thorin pressed their foreheads together over their clasped hands before turning to the crowd. “People of Erebor, I present to you my consort, Bilbo Baggins. Dragonriddler of Erebor.”

~ ~

The party lasted three days. It was wild, raucous, and wonderful. There was food, drink, music, and dancing. But best of all, when Thorin fell into bed, Bilbo was there by his side. And when Thorin awoke in the morning, Bilbo was there in his arms.

Though hearing Dis hiss to Kili that he was going to have to sit through a proper wedding, no matter how much he’d rather do a dramatic scene like his uncle’s, or she’d make his life miserable was another highlight of the week. Thorin really did have to remember to give his nephew permission to court that blasted elf.

~ ~

Kili formally began courting Tauriel at midwinter. He offered her a quiver of dragon scale and raven feather arrows. She countered with a elvish made bow of dwarvish size, strung with her own red hair.

The wedding was set for midsummer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


	7. "We're Going to Have a Cousin! We're Going to Have a Cousin!"

Bilbo spent time in his garden every day that winter, no matter how cold it got. Well, Thorin did put his foot down during the blizzard and insisted on short visits when the wind was so strong the gates were sealed lest the gusts reach the depths of the mountain.

Thorin was dragged along as often as Bilbo could manage. It was good for a garden born to hear voices, to know there was something to strive for. So they talked, for a few minutes or a few hours. Bilbo told stories of the Shire. Thorin told dwarvish legends. They both coaxed and encouraged and spoke excitedly of the wonders to come.

The air was barely warming, the snow still on the peak, the day Bilbo convinced Thorin to bring his harp and sing. The whole Company trailed after them and Bilbo shivered as they sang again the song that he’d last heard in Bag-End, the song that had drawn him on a mad quest to face a dragon for thirteen dwarrow he’d never met before.

It was Dodinas, scampering down the frozen stone of the cliff, who first noticed it.

“A sprout!”

Ferdinand and Donnamira bolted from the doorway where they’d been listening to crouch over Bilbo. “I see green,” Donnamira squealed.

Only Bilbo dared move closer, to gently touch to tiny sprout’s single green leaf, glistening in the sunlight. “Hello there, little one.”

“Are we sure… I mean… This is a good sign?” Thorin stuttered.

“Oh yes,” Bilbo breathed.

“It’s not a certainty,” Adelard said. “Not every sprout makes it, or even every plant.”

“Don’t be a killjoy,” Ferdinand snapped. “This is a good day.”

“Oh, our cousin is strong,” Kili cried.

“Our cousin is brave,” Fili joined in.

“Nothing will stop him now,” they chortled together, dancing circles around their mother. “We’re gonna have a cousin. We’re gonna have a cousin.”

“This is good,” Thorin said, still sounding hesitant.

Bilbo tugged his husband closer and pressed their foreheads together over the tiny sprout that was connected to their son. “He can no more resist your call than I can, my king.”

~ ~ 

The hobbits left with the first spring caravan heading back toward Erid Luin.

“You must write often,” Adelard commanded as he hugged Bilbo for the umpteenth time that morning.

“I at least expect to hear that you all made it home in one piece,” Bilbo replied.

“Forget us,” Ferdinand said. “We want to hear about your little dwobbit.”

Thorin snorted and reminded himself to hit the training grounds sometime soon when Gimli was there and knock the little firecracker around a bit for coming up with such a wretched term for his and Bilbo’s son. Who was already a solid bush growing steadily in the spring sunlight.

“I’ll write, I’ll write, I promise,” Bilbo cried. He hugged Donnamira tightly.

“And feel free to visit any time,” Dodinas said, his eyes fixed on Fili and his expression flirtatious. Not that the dwarf had gone there, but it seemed nothing had convinced the hobbit there was no chance. His efforts to snag a prince had doubled since Durin’s day.

“Only if you can control yourself,” Bilbo said firmly. “And that sister of yours.”

“Oh, don’t you say anything bad against Estella.”

“I’m just saying she can no more keep her skirts down than you can keep your pants on,” Bilbo hissed. “And I won’t have her throwing herself at my dwarrow.”

“Spoilsport.” Dodinas stuck out his tongue.

“All right, into the wagon,” Adelard said, pointing at the caravan leader who was already directing the outriders to get started. 

“You will all be missed,” Fili said formally, then added, “Even Dodinas.”

“Oy.”

“And you’re welcome back any time,” Kili added. “Even Dodinas.”

“Oy,” Dodinas protested again, but he couldn’t keep up the facade of anger and broke into giggles with his kinfolk.

“Thank you for the kind welcome,” Adelard said, shaking Thorin’s hand one last time. “And do come visit someday. Thorin Bagginshield will always be welcome in the Shire.”

Thorin had to grin at that. “And any hobbit of the Shire will always be welcome in Erebor. Took, Baggins, or otherwise.”

“Except Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” Bilbo cried as his kinfolk climbed into their wagon. “You tell her she can’t have Bag-End and she can’t have Erebor.”

“Yes, cousin Bilbo,” cried four amused voices as the wagon started up.

~ ~ 

Bilbo had spent a lot of time reviewing bead meanings and studying the beads worn by those around him. Thanks to this he was fairly certain that Dwalin and Nori were both males who prefered males (he was also fairly certain they were sleeping together regularly, but that was more hobbit intuition than beads). Ori seemed craft wed, as did Balin. Dis was a female who prefered males, but her bead was accented with a widow’s mark which apparently meant “Don’t bother, I won't’ remarry.” Or maybe “My desire died with my husband.”

But there were a lot of variations and sometimes he got confused. Which was why he took advantage of catching Fili alone in the garden one day and just asked.

“I mean, I’m probably missing something, and it certainly doesn’t matter to me, but I’m just wondering.” Bilbo faltered to a stop and studied Fili’s amused expression. “I’m sorry. I’m being impossibly rude.”

“No,” Fili said firmly. “You are family, and even if you were not, I’d be happy to explain. It’s complicated for me. The mix of runes really means that I’m just not sure yet. Some dwarrow know what they want from birth and some of us have to stumble along until we figure it out.” He smiled broadly. “Kili was lucky in that he always knew he prefered dams. Though we never expected it to turn out quite like this.”

“Ah, that does make sense.” Bilbo smiled back. “Thank you for explaining. I had wondered why your uncle would ask something so… well, his comment back when he was fighting with Kili seemed odd given you’ve got the craftwed rune there.”

Fili flushed and glanced down. “Actually, he was just lashing out. In truth, I should get a new bead.”

“Oh?”

“I… Well, I’ve long suspected I’m craftwed, but no craft ever seemed quite right. I love jewelry smithing and I’m quite skilled at blacksmithing, but it wasn’t enough. I thought perhaps I was like Uncle, without desire, but something still didn’t feel right. I don’t feel the need for someone else. I have Kili and he is…”

“Everything.” Bilbo wrapped his hands around Fili’s hand. “I felt the same way while my parents lived. I never thought I would need more.”

Fili nodded. “But since we got here, well, I think I’ve discovered my craft.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Bilbo and Fili both jumped as Thorin’s voice boomed out from behind them.

“Why did you not tell us?” Thorin stepped up to Bilbo’s side.

“I...well, we’ve all been busy,” Fili mumbled.

“You mean you didn’t want to throw more coal on the flame while your uncle was feuding with Kili,” Bilbo said, nudging his overbearing husband in the ribs.

“Ah, Fili, I am sorry for—”

“It’s fine, durub,” Fili said. “I understand you needed to work through your issues with elves.”

“I will never get over my issues with Thranduil,” Thorin snapped, but then he sighed and deflated, leaning into Bilbo. “But Kili’s elf is not so bad.”

“Very good, love,” Bilbo said, taking his husband’s hand. “Another decade and maybe you can face Lord Elrond with courtesy.”

Fili giggled and Thorin harrumphed.

“We are happy you’ve found yourself,” Bilbo said, turning back to his nephew. “And when you’re ready to tell us, we’ll be happy to hear it. Won’t we, Thorin?”

“Yes, of course,” Thorin said.

“Leadership,” Fili said quickly. “I mean, I love crafting things, but crafting a society, that is where my heart lies.”

Bilbo felt delight and could only imagine how pleased Thorin was to hear this.

“Irakdashatê.” Thorin stepped forward and wrapped Fili in his arms. “Mahal has truly blessed me with the rêdel.”

“What of…” Fili gestured at the thriving bush that had just the day before begun to bud.

“You are my heir, Fili, unless you tell me otherwise,” Thorin said, pressing his forehead to Fili’s. “Whether he should be your heir or you will find your own is between you and he. But I could have no better heir than the dwarf standing before me.”

~ ~

The sprout that became a bush kept growing taller as summer came into its own. Then it bloomed.

“It is almost a pity we cannot use these flowers for the wedding,” Bilbo commented only days before Midsummer and the long awaited event. The Durins were in the garden purely to hide from the elves that had recently arrived in honor of an elf wedding into the royal family. They certainly weren’t there because they liked Tauriel. Even Bilbo was calling them stuck up snobs.

“Dwarrow do not wear flowers at their weddings,” Thorin pointed out dryly.

“Hobbits do,” Bilbo said. “Though I do not know about elves.”

“It depends on the group,” Tauriel said. “In Mirkwood they wear crowns of greenery, sometimes with flowers if there is something suitable blooming at the time.”

“They would look stunning in Kili’s hair, bring out the highlights. Ah well.” Bilbo sighed, gently caressing a deep blue blossom.

“There is no real reason Kili couldn’t wear flowers,” Fili said, shooting Thorin a glare when he huffed. “If he wanted to, of course.”

“Ah, but not these,” Bilbo said, caressing a nearby vine.

“Why not?” Kili said. “While I’m not eager to wear greenery, they are lovely.”

“Ah, but one never plucks such flowers,” Bilbo said. Bother, had he told them to leave the blooms alone? “To even touch the plant is considered… well, it just isn’t done.”

Kili and Fili both blanched under their beards. “Umm, but you touch all the time,” Kili stuttered.

“And encourage it of me,” Thorin said.

“But we are the parents. Of course we should. Parents should interact with their child in every way possible from the moment of planting.”

“So, it’s like….” Fili broke off, his hand gesturing towards the mountain. “Umm...you know....” He looked at Tauriel and bit his lip.

Thorin sighed. “Like in the repository?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “To intrude upon one that is not your own is… improper. Perhaps dangerous.”

“Oh, Mahal,” Kili muttered. “I … Bilbo….”

“We’ve not kept our hands to ourselves,” Fili added.

“We didn’t know,” Kili blurted.

“We should have suspected,” Fili said.

“Yes, we should have.” Dis set a hand on each of her son’s shoulders. “I hope we have not done harm.”

Bilbo blinked and resisted the urge to kick himself. Of course he should have explained, not just assumed they’d understand like any hobbit. Even faunts had to be taught. “Well, I guess we’ll know in few months.” He caressed the nearest vine again, but got no sense of distress. “But everything looks well… You have not… trimmed?”

“Certainly not,” Fili protested, and Kili waved his arms in a firm negative.

“Even if I were to consider a branch might be in need of trimming, I would not intrude,” Dis said. “I would tell you my concerns and let you decide on a course of action.”

“Well, then I’m sure it’s fine.” Bilbo’s smile was a touch forced, but it really was probably fine. It was more tradition than anything that only the parents would touch. “You are blood kin after all.” Right?

Thorin pulled Bilbo close and murmured in his ear, “He will be well, akdâmuthrabê. We must trust in Mahal and his wife.”

~ ~

Snooty elves aside, the wedding went off well. Tauriel towered but looked lovely, her clothing of a practical warrier’s cut but well decked in embroidery as befit the wife of a prince of Durin’s line. The one concession to her elvishness was a crown of white blossoms presented to her just before the wedding by Bilbo. Thorin could not find it in his heart to forbid the touch after watching how her eyes lit up upon the gifting.

Kili wore clothing as befit a prince, rich and trimmed in gems. But he had sworn off gold in honor of his uncle and his armor, while of highest quality, was that of an archer. And from the base of each of his Durin braids hung a cluster of the same white blossoms as crowned his beloved.

Thorin suffered through the service, almost wishing Dis had permitted her son the same short form Thorin had used. Much less bother and time wasting. But he could see how his people took the effort Tauriel put into presenting herself as worthy of their prince in the most dwarvish manners and knew the full wedding was the right thing to do.

“They look beautiful together,” Bilbo said to his husband as the newly wedded couple finally took their first steps together on the dancefloor at the feast.

“They look happy,” Thorin replied.

~ ~

As summer turned to fall and the air around the craigs of Erebor turned chill, Bilbo set guards at the entrance to his garden, day and night, with orders to summon him immediately if the bush that had taken over half the space started shaking. There were a few false summonses when the wind hit the mountain just right, but the guards on duty soon came to understand what it was they were looking for.

For the most part. No one ever did tell them why it was important if the bush started shaking on its own.

The next summons came but days before Durin’s Day. Bilbo was beginning to think the bush might just go dormant for the winter. He’d never heard of such a thing before, a garden born needing more than a single winter before birth, but he’d never heard of anyone planting a child who was half dwarf either. So who knew how this might turn out. All such concerns, however, were wiped away when a guard walked into the council meeting, a sheepish look on his face.

“It’s shaking again,” he whispered into Bilbo’s ear, ignoring how they were both being glared at by the master of the jewelers who was pontificating about the importance of his position and bitching about the lack of honors for jewelers in the upcoming Durin’s Day celebration.

“Same as last time?” Bilbo asked softly, all but under his breath. He’d go check, but if it was the same as before he wouldn’t bother Thorin. Balin would have his head for interrupting another council meeting.

“Nay,” the guard said. “I went out onto the terrace. There’s not a breath of wind anywhere, but it’s shaking like it’d get up and walk.”

“Oh my….” Bilbo breathed, then shoved his chair back and stood.

“Bilbo?” Thorin turned to his husband, obviously ignoring the now sputtering jeweler.

“It’s time.” Even as Bilbo said that, he could feel it. That did rather explain the edgy feeling he’d had in his stomach all morning. He’d thought it was just frustration at facing another council meeting.

Thorin’s eyes lit up, their deep blue alive with so much emotion it made Bilbo’s heart ache. “You’re sure?”

“Well, not until we get there, but…. No, I am.” Bilbo held out a hand for Thorin as his husband rose to his feet.

“Sorry, we’ll pick this up again later,” Thorin said distractedly.

“Excuse me?” the master of the jewelers said, and a few other masters near him protested as well. “This is important business.”

“So is the birth of my son,” Thorin said flatly. 

“Council is closed until Durin’s Day,” Balin proclaimed. “Either bring your concerns to me or wait until winter.” He shooed his king and consort from the room even as Dwalin and the guard who had brought the good news formed a protective wall between their king and the roaring councillors. 

“Well, that put a bee in their bonnet,” Bilbo muttered as he bolted for the garden, Thorin at his side.

Thorin just snickered.

They went straight to the garden, stopping only for a moment at the entrance to send the other guard to tell Kili, Fili, and Dis. It was probably unnecessary. Word of Thorin’s announcement would spread through the mountain in no time. But Bilbo felt it was polite.

Once on the terrace, Bilbo saw the guard’s words were exactly true. The air was crisp and utterly still, but the bush that had grown from their seed was shaking wildly. Bilbo pushed through the branches for the core, waving for Thorin to follow. It was a tight fit, but there was a small space near the roots where nothing grew. And from the dirt near the roots thrust a small hand.

“By Mahal,” Thorin breathed.

“Hello there, little one,” Bilbo said. He reached out and gently touched the hand, whose fingers quickly gripped his with amazing strength. “Oh, a strong one you are. Come on now, come meet your fathers.”

Another hand thrust from the earth, tiny fingers flexing, seeking. Thorin reached out and soon found himself as caught as Bilbo. “They’ve grown,” he murmured.

“Course they have. He’s been growing all year, haven’t you, lad? Now, don’t pull. Let him do the work. Just brace.” 

And brace they did, until two strong arms levered up a head of black curls and the two blue eyes below studied them both with sharp intelligence.

“Well, don’t stop there,” Bilbo encouraged. It took a little coaxing, but soon the whole of their son was free of the earth, from the black curls on his head to the black curls on his feet.

“Hobbit feet,” Thorin said, tracing a finger along the bottom of one solid foot. “I’ve become quite fond of hobbit feet.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bilbo said. “Now, we need a blade.” He was just remembering he’d been meaning to wear Sting more often for just this reason. But Thorin was always wearing blades and pulled out his belt knife.

“My father made this for me,” he murmured even as he cut where Bilbo pointed, severing their son from the plant that had nurtured him. He then pressed the handle into his son’s hand. The tiny fingers couldn’t really reach around the haft, but they tried as blue eyes met blue eyes.

“Really, Thorin.” Bilbo caught up the knife and tucked it into his belt, one advantage of wearing dwarven style clothing.

“It’s his now.”

“Then we’ll give it to him when he’s old enough to hold it.”

Thorin smiled soppily and scooped his son into his arms. Together they worked their way out from under the bush that was already withering. When Bilbo finally escaped as well, he found their closest family waiting on the terrace, the Company visible peering around the doorway just beyond them.

Dis was the first to step forward, wrapping her nephew in the blanket she’d commissioned just for this moment. It was deep Durin blue, embroidered in silver thread, and very warm. “Silly males, he’ll freeze if you’re not careful.”

Fili and Kili looked over her shoulders with Tauriel towering over Kili. “He’s beautiful,” she said.

“He’s got your eyes, Uncle Thorin,” Fili said.

“Uncle Bilbo’s nose, though,” Kili added.

“What will you name him?” Dis asked, formally.

Bilbo shared a fond look with Thorin, then waved for their friends, their family, to join them.

Thorin took a deep breath. “May I introduce you to…”

~ ~ 

Another Durin’s Day dawned. Thorin had not thought he could look forward to the celebrations in Erebor more than he had last year. And yet, somehow this year seemed even better as he looked down the Great Hall at his subjects, his friends, his family.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, called Bagginshield, King under the Mountain,” Balin called, drawing the attention of all to the head of the hall. “And Bilbo Baggins, Dragon-riddler, Consort under the Mountain.”

Thorin looked out across the crowd and then down at the precious bundle in his arms. Black curls had been carefully plaited to form two Durin braids before delicately pointed ears. Blue eyes, so much like his own, looked up at him, then out to scan the room. There was no fear in them, just like another pair of eyes Thorin knew well. Those of the hobbit that stood at his side.

“People of Erebor,” Thorin called, and paused as the crowd roared. “Honored friends.” He tilted his head to the cluster of men and elves who had come for the celebration. “I am delighted to welcome you all to our halls once again on Durin’s Day. And today I have a pleasure I’d never thought to experience under this great mountain. Today it is my great pleasure to introduce you all to Frerin, son of Thorin, son of Thrain, of the Line of Baggins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my mind, Frerin is not Thorgo, not just in name. He was born of the same two parents, but under different circumstances, of different soil. So if I ever follow this up, their life paths would not be the same, their personalities would not be the same, etc. I personally think Frerin is taller and Thorgo is rounder, but who knows what else might be a factor..
> 
> But there you go, a fix-it version of a world similar to "Of the Stone of Erebor and the Gardens of the Shire." I hope you lot are happy. *Mutters "bloody muses"*
> 
> Dwarrow (Khuzdul) terms
> 
> Akdâmuthrabê - my burgler  
> Akhminruki astû - Thank you wholeheartedly (to a male)  
> Amlâkhuzd - Half-dwarf  
> Azanulbizar - The Dimrill Dale outside the east gate of Moria. Site of the final battle of the War of the Dwarrow and Orcs  
> Bintarg - Beardless  
> Durub - uncle  
> Dwarrow - The proper plural of dwarf per Tolkien.  
> Irakdashatê - my nephew  
> Khajam - my gift  
> khajmel - gift of all kifts  
> Khuzdul - The language of the dwarrow  
> Mahal - The Maker. Khuzdul name for Aulë, the Smith, creator of the Dwarrow  
> Masmith - Jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Nana' - sister  
> Rêdel - heir of all heirs  
> Tharkun - Gray-man or Staff-man.The Khuzdul name for Gandalf.
> 
> Elvish terms
> 
> Elleth - elf-maid in Sindarin  
> Tengwar - script used for Sindarin
> 
> Hobbitish terms
> 
> Faunts - Immature hobbits that are not yet tweenagers. (Children)  
> Mathoms - usless trinkets. Hobbits tend to collect them around the house and then gift and regift them at birthdays and the like. Big mathoms might be put in a mathom house for everyone to have a gander at.


End file.
